#The words ��[name] would never do anything like that” do not exist in Wayne Manor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellesthots · 3 months

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Fateful Beginnings

VII. “peaches”

parts: previous / next

plot: after an awkward first night in Wayne Manor, the morning brings another unfortunate situation.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, struggling to breathe, tension

words: 2.9k

The house tour was as bitter as you anticipated. You followed in tow, his shoulders slumped as he gestured from room to room. You were beginning to get winded going up all the stairs and across the so, so expansive floors. You reached a room with double doors and a heavy lock. He glanced at you from over his shoulder, the first time he'd looked back in fifteen minutes.

"This is my parent's room." He spoke it like he was frozen in time, like any heat from his voice would blow the room from existence. And then you stood in silence. He didn't know if he should leave, and you didn't have anywhere to leave to. Alfred was taking his sweet time, and a part of you wondered if he weren't hiding in the shadowy corners of the house to try and get you two to bond. You hoped Alfred didn't have it out for you that bad.

Bruce didn't look at you as he walked down the wide, open hallway toward his room, but he stopped at the doorway. He didn't want to leave you alone, but he didn't want you to be here. Why was he so worried about being polite? Why did he owe you anything? He'd saved you in that alley and how did you repay him? With blackmail?

Him standing with his back to you in the hallway made you uneasy. You wanted to blame him for how unwelcoming he had been but... again, you'd forced your way in. It was nice enough they weren't throwing you out to take your chances on the flood waters. If it weren't for Alfred, maybe he would.

You stood there like that for a moment. Together in the moment but as far away from each other as possible. The house was disturbingly quiet. You hated that, and hoped you'd be able to sleep. Alfred saved you a minute later, motioning for you to follow him up one more stairwell and to the right. You were going to be sleeping in the room just above Bruce's.

The room was understated compared to the rest of the house. White walls (surprising with the gothic architecture), pale linen sheets, a floral comforter, and a laptop and phone charger sitting atop a particularly plump pillow. He had lit a candle in the corner, likely covering up whatever musk was natural to the space. There was a small lamp on top a side table where Alfred has graciously placed two bottles of water and a granola bar. Alongside it, a note: In case of a midnight snack. Feel free to go to the kitchen however often you please. You felt like you were at a hotel. And... how did Bruce live with someone so charming and remain so hostile?

You opened the laptop and mindlessly typed away on a new document. It turned a bit more into a journal without your conscious intent.

I'm stuck here with asshole Bruce Wayne. Maybe Bruce Wayne isn't an asshole though, maybe I'm the asshole. I blackmailed him. Kinda. I don't know. Alfred is nice. It's weird to call someone so old by their first name, but he's kindly enough. These sheets are kinda rough. I'm so tired. I don't want to sleep. But I do. But I have this paper. Ugh. I hope Bruce doesn't beat me up. Or kill me.

As sleepiness struck your eyes you did a quick YouTube search of how to check for cameras in a hotel room. The next fifteen minutes consisted of moving every single lamp, mirror, book, and looking into every lightbulb with a flashlight. You even tried a Bluetooth finder app, and nothing came up. It calmed you a bit that they weren't used to having guests, so they probably never thought about spying.

After half an hour of tossing and turning you realized you had to go to the restroom. You searched your thoughts for any memory of him mentioning any bathrooms. Jesus, did they even have any? You threw the covers off and padded across the cool marble flooring out into the hallway. There were no sounds aside from the occasional tick of a grandfather clock at the head of the grand staircase. Christ. It was downright terrifying being out here. How did Alfred not go crazy? You understood how Bruce lived here—it was probably why he was so grumpy.

You heard the sound of water coming from somewhere and wandered down to its origin—Bruce's room. Ear pressed to the door you heard the sound of a shower. Did he have the only bathroom in this place? Scurrying away from his room so as not to disrupt the prince in the dead of night, you opened every door on his floor to no avail (aside from his parent's, which you couldn't open even if you wanted to). You thought about running outside to pee in some random bush, then remembered the flooding. The house was so large you had entirely forgotten about it; storms didn't intimidate it.

After what felt like hours wandering around, you could barely hold it. You were gonna have to go back to his room. Ugh. You jogged up the stairs trying to be light on your feet as you thought you'd pee yourself. You lightly knocked, fear freezing you. It was late. You should have just gone to Alfred. Bruce would be pissed. No one was up right now, he could fuck you up in just a second... the door opened and you flinched away from it. You peered over at him standing shirtless in his doorway. He didn't look the least bit tired, which was confusing until you remembered he was fucking Batman. "Um. I need to use your restroom."

He stared at you like you were the strangest thing he'd ever seen and that was the strangest thing he'd ever heard. He gestured across the hall. "What about that one?"

You followed his gaze and saw a room behind one of the staircase pillars, covered in shadows. You wanted to bite back and tell him he hadn't shown you any bathroom during the house tour, but you had to pee SO badly. You rushed there as quickly as possible, trying not to think about how he was probably laughing at you hobbling around in the dark. The bathroom was surprisingly normal and bright, nothing much of note--as if you had any time to dawdle and inspect it in your fervor.

Once back in the bedroom assigned to you, you plucked around on your computer completely unable to sleep. You wrote random sentences about Bruce Wayne, trying to remember his answers as much as possible. You mused over whether or not Dr. Vry would want exact quotes, or if paraphrase would suffice... as you typed along blindly, you realized you would have to use exact quotes or no one would believe you. You went to reach for the water on your bedside and your fingers tripped on the voice recorder you'd forgotten about. The next hour was spent poring over the audio, replaying his snarky comments to you and his biting tone at you calling him Bruce.

"Sorry, I kept hearing my name called."

You woke up with a startle, your eyes going first to the strange ceiling, then the unfamiliar walls, finally to a tall, dark-haired man in the doorway. You wiped away sleep with your palms, slowly becoming aware of the looping interview too loud for comfort. You'd been asleep that long? Embarrassed, you fumbled around your blankets to find it, quickly silencing the offending speaker. Bruce was already turned around and headed out the door, and you threw the first words out of your mouth to try and regain some of your confidence. "I was up late working on my paper," You shouted once more. "I must've fallen asleep with it on."

He stilled briefly in the hall but didn't turn back around, striding down the hall as he said words you barely made out. "I think Alfred's made breakfast, anyway." It wasn't the most welcoming invitation--in fact, you could hardly call it one at all. He acted like a child forced to go wake up an annoying younger sibling, but you hardly cared with the grumbling in your stomach.

Sure enough, as you bounded down the stairs you smelled... breakfast. Eggs, bacon, waffles or pancakes? and hashbrowns, maple syrup, and... fresh baked bread. You peeked around the corner to see Bruce packing scrambled eggs onto his plate, and stood there waiting until he took his seat at the table. You didn't want to interact with him again; you were tired, and the idea of getting into an argument this early bummed you out. Still in yesterday's clothes, with dirty hair and no shoes besides heels, you felt disgraceful as you entered the kitchen. You smiled and thanked Alfred for preparing the food, all but rushing to the pancakes and hashbrowns. As you sat, Bruce stared down at his plate, all but scarfing down the food. He seemed to want to get out of there as quickly as possible, with no intention of making conversation.

You enjoyed your hashbrowns first, the crispy warmth helping you feel a bit more held in the cold, dingy tower. It was when Bruce was starting to get up to place his dish in the sink when you decided to dig into the pancakes. After the first bite you noticed a bit of tang; your brow furrowed and you set down your fork, taking great effort to slowly, yet successfully swallow. You let out a particularly hefty cough, which caught the attention of both men. You started sipping water quickly, trying not to show your desperation. "Are you alright, Miss?" Alfred's soft lulling voice leaned closer to you. You blinked furiously, anxiety causing you to grip the bottom of the chair firmly. Your voice was higher and softer now as your throat swelled. "Is there, anything in the, I can't, peaches," you dove for the water again as it became harder and harder to speak. If you were at home you could have grabbed the Benadryl and this would be done with in about five minutes. Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh my god, my apologies, I used peaches to sweeten the mix." He rose quickly and bolted across the kitchen.

Bruce took a few steps toward you, eyes locked to above your shoulders, scanning your face, lips, throat. "Is something stuck?" He strode over to you and leaned in front of your face, listening to your breathing. It was becoming increasingly labored, but he trusted you shaking your head. You'd spoken, so you weren't choking. "How serious is it, do we, like, is there medicine here we can...?" He'd never seen anyone have an allergic reaction before. He knew people had died from it, but he also heard Alfred casually refer to his 'allergies' in the warmer months. Bruce thought about how they could possibly get you to the hospital, mapping ten different routes in his head trying to think how he could circumvent the flooding. Would the hospitals even be open? They had to be, right? But he'd tried to go out as Batman the night before and the streets had been rushing like a river with floodwater and sewage. He hadn't been able to make it down the last few steps in fear of being swept away.

"Jesus," He heard Alfred mutter. He rushed over clutching a faded bottle of medicine that looked at least a decade old. "I have this old children's Benadryl, we can give this a try." Alfred dosed out something and Bruce stared firmly at you as you anxiously sipped at water, struggling not to panic, feeling like you were breathing through nothing more than a straw. Even more than a droplet of water going down at once blocked your airway for a few seconds. Alfred handed you a small cup with purple-pink liquid, and you sipped it slowly, choking on the first few due to the thick consistency. Only four sips in, well more than half of the dose left, you put your elbows on the table and your head in your hands as your breathing rattled. "I can't breathe I can't breathe," you whined, fearful, hot tears pricking your eyes and streaming down your cold, clammy cheeks. Everything besides panic eluded you as you became hyperaware of your body.

Bruce was frustrated. Just drink the damn liquid. He stared for a few more seconds as your rattled, raspy breaths became increasingly shallow and grabbed your water, filling the rest of the small cup and using his finger to mix the two to make a thinner consistency. A gentle hand under your chin tilted it up and the cup was placed against your lips. "Drink." His voice was firm and encouraging. You shut your eyes, focusing on getting it into your system as quickly as possible as he slowly tipped the medicine in. You felt him tip further and further, and soon you swallowed the last of it.

Alfred couldn't help but stand back and watch him. Bruce's eyes were so trained on you, and his softness was surprising. It was what he'd done half a decade prior, back when Alfred had broken a few ribs falling down the main stairway. It was moments like these where he suspected Batman was more than just filling a role or continuing a legacy. He was suited for it. Compassion came more naturally to Bruce than he let on; he didn't miss the small sigh that escaped him when you'd swallowed the last bit of medicine.

You sat and heaved against the table, struggling to catch your breath as your throat flames began to calm—slowly, much too slowly, but your risk of asphyxiating was rapidly decreasing. As your breathing deepened Alfred let out a large sigh, setting the old bottle on the counter. "Thank god, this is from when you were a boy, Bruce.”

Sleepiness started to lull you, further proving the efficacy of the medicine. Bruce didn't look over at Alfred, still focused intently on your face for signs of distress.

You stood up slowly, after about a minute of silence as you grew more confident your throat wasn't swelling anymore. The post-Benadryl grogginess was amplified by your lack of sleep, and you excused yourself up to your room. You walked up a flight, took a right, and barely made it to bed before your eyes shut and you fell into deep, restorative slumber.

Bruce stayed downstairs to help Alfred put away breakfast. Alfred was distraught, muttering to himself self-flagellations about not checking for allergies. He excused himself from the old man's lamenting and said he was going to check on you. He jogged up the marble flights and stopped at the foot of your door with his hand hovered above your doorknob. Was this creepy? He didn't think so, but he didn't really have much experience with how a stranger would feel in this situation; it was only ever him and Alfred. Ultimately he decided it would be worse if you died in your sleep than felt embarrassed, opening your door to an empty room. His brow furrowed.

He padded down the stairs with suspicion that only intensified when he noticed his door was ajar. He lightly pushed it open to see you passed out on your side in the middle of his unmade bed. He bristled at the image, feeling deeply unsettled and vaguely nauseous. He turned to jog down the stairs and find some respite in one of the downstairs offices, but Alfred briefly interrupted as he head up the stairs. Alfred's gaze looked fleetingly toward Bruce's door, and he saw Y/N lying there. "Bruce." He chastised. "You better not be mad at the poor girl,"

He shook his head and nearly tripped trying to get down the stairs as quickly as possible. Alfred stayed on the same floor as you to check on your breathing every hour. After the third successful check, he wandered down to find Bruce in the basement tinkering on his motorcycle. He spoke as soon as he entered. "I'm serious about what I said, Bruce."

Bruce didn't hesitate. "It's just a bed. Nothing to be angry about." He continued messing with a janky wheel from turning too sharply the week before.

"I just figured with the way you've been acting toward her,"

"Like someone who blackmailed me?" He interrupted Alfred and pushed himself up to stare at the old man. He threw his hands in the air. "She's writing an exposé on me."

"Her? Why?" Alfred was dumbfounded, she'd seemed a bit sarcastic but nonetheless respectful. Why would you want to write a paper for school on Bruce? "Did you do something to her?"

Bruce shot a cold look his way. "Are you serious?" He shook his head and stormed to the elevator, hastily pressing UP. "I'll be in the kitchen cleaning up until she wakes."

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kawaiikenna · 2 years

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Wrote this in an hour maybe? It’s time for bed. -_-;;; So enjoy this ficlet/long prompt/fic idea. Also this will probably be super triggering to some individuals. Please read with caution. I’m not going to tag all the tw’s though cause I’m faaaaar too tired. I’ll edit this tomorrow. Maybe. Eh, we’ll see.

Danny thought that life had been going just great. He had ended up being fostered by Wayne’s after a falling out with his parents over something that wasn’t even ghost related. The only reason why he was where he was, was because Bruce owed Vlad a favor. Danny didn’t know what kind of favor was owed, and he didn’t want to know. In the end he actually did get along with the gaggle of Wayne kids. It ended up being one of the most peaceful times in his life up until then.

Until it wasn’t.

The day had started off as normally as any other day he had been in the Wayne Manor. Danny woke up, got dressed, had breakfast with Bruce and the remaining siblings, then headed off to school. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except, Danny never made it to school.

There was no note, no call, nothing. It was as if Danny had suddenly stopped existing. No one saw anything. The cameras were spotty at best. They had no leads. Nothing to go off of. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Day after day, week after week. There was nothing until suddenly there was something.

An unaddressed envelope with several embossed tickets inside. Each ticket had a vigilante’s name scrawled in Danny’s very distinctive half cursive writing. That week on Friday night, there was to be a kind of traveling entertainer’s troupe in town. The main attraction was apparently a white haired boy that would end up doing all sorts of extremely dangerous tricks and dares. The batfam geared up and hoped that somewhere, somehow, they would be able to find Danny here at this almost circus themed attraction.

What they found instead was a completely empty building. The inside was set up in a way that made it seem like it was the inside of a Hollywood circus tent. Sheets of fabric hung from the ceiling, there was a ring set up in the center with a platform in the middle of that. A tightrope set up far above their heads, a metal hoop dangled down from the ceiling, thick ropes of fabric strung up on either side.

Suddenly, a bright spotlight lit up the center platform. There, two figures were illuminated. Both clowns but extremely different from each other. One the batfam knew almost intimately, Joker. The other, a stranger but he seemed to fit in with the aesthetic of their city.

All batfam members are incapacitated and forced to watch against their will. For some reason they’ve been wrapped up in 2D, neon green animals.

The two present the fantabulous Phantom. The white haired boy from the poster appeared from nowhere. As Joker and the newly introduced Freak Show narrated, Phantom did everything they said. He interacted with various props, did a few tricks, he juggled at one point. Sharp daggers whirling through the air in a professional practiced manner until Freak Show said that somehow Phantom had fumbled. True to his word, the boy did fumble. Sharp daggers falling haphazardly around him. The teen did not move a single inch, even as a dagger nearly pierced through the flesh of his cheek leaving a long bleeding cut down his face. Instead it buried itself into the unmoving teen’s shoulder. He pulls the dagger out of his shoulder nonchalantly and lets it clatter to the floor.

Without getting any kind of treatment the teen starts up one of the pillars to get to the tightrope platform. There’s no safety gear in sight as the teen starts to walk the tightrope. Joker and Freak Show commiserate him on almost getting to the other side. At the last moment, Phantom ‘slips’ and is now hanging comically by one hand on the rope.

Two Joker lackeys come out with an old fireman’s trampoline. They run back and forth as they try to predict where Phantom would fall. In the end though, they miss completely and Phantom ends up landing in a broken heap on the ground.

At this point the batfam are in a nearly crazed state. Even if they don’t know exactly who Phantom is, this was wrong. It was all WRONG.

Under Joker and Freak Show’s prodding and goading, Phantom gets back up. Multiple traumatic wounds can be seen. But in the next instant flesh stitches itself back together and bones mend themselves back under his skin and back into place.

~~~

So basically our two clown dimwits are physically bullying and hurting Danny. Freak Show has the teen under mind control again and makes him extremely docile. There’s no outward expression of any kind, his eyes are dead and unseeing. This goes on for a while until Freak Show tries to get Danny to hurt one of the batfam.

This does not go as planned at all and now they have an extremely angry and eldritch Danny on their hands. He goes on a rampage and ends up destroying nearly everything. But he still protects his newfound family, getting them out of harm’s way.

The batfam on the other hand have no clue how to process that their shy, sweet, quiet Danny is also the massive monster rampaging around.

After Danny had finally calmed down; he went straight to Bruce and promptly passed out. There was no waking the kid up until he decided to get up.

- - -

Will I expand on this idea? Meh. I’m not sure, maybe. I’d love to hear your guys’ thoughts on this though. -w-

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dc x dp #batman #dp #dc comics #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #batfam #writing prompts #dp x dc crossover #eldritch ghost king danny

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yamayuandadu · 3 months

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Is the fact that Enlil fought Kur to rescue Ereshkigal an actual thing according to Gilgamesh's epic or was it just a mistranslation?

There's no such a myth. There is no such a being as "Kur" in Mesopotamian mythology. Not only is the alleged "dragon Kur" a mistranslation, it's a mistranslation which was NEVER ACCEPTED BY THE OVERWHELMING MAJORITY OF RESEARCHERS. And we’re not talking about modern researchers, we’re talking about researchers in 1946 already. There is a brief discussion of this in Alhena Gadotti’s ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld’ and the Sumerian Gilgamesh Cycle (p. 3):

However, it’s basically a matter which deserves no real consideration. I have no clue how does the dragon that never was spread online considering it’s the idea on the most fringe of fringe areas of this discipline, and it’s not like it’s hard to access a standard modern translation of Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld (or its Akkadian adaptation, tablet XII of the SB edition of the Epic of Gilgamesh). The word kur is obviously not a given name. It has three possible meanings depending on context - "mountain" (like ex. in the epithet Kurgal and the temple name Ekur; this is likely the oldest use since the sign started as a schematic drawing of a mountain), "land" or "underworld". A brief summary can be found in Wayne Horowitz’s Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography (pp. 272-273), more detailed discussion - in Dina Katz’s The Image of the Netherworld in the Sumerian Sources. Needless to say, in the discussed passage it refers to the underworld. Obviously, the myth does not involve Enlil (or anyone else) “rescuing” Ereshkigal. The passage simply refers to the bestowing of her position on her, courtesy of Enlil and Anu. This is a standard motif in Mespotamian mythology - Enlil, sometimes assisted by other big names like Anu or Enki, was supposed to appoint other gods to their positions.

Gadotti argues that Ereshkigal specifically receives the underworld as dowry (p. 11). The term used is saĝrig which can also more generally refer to a gift (p. 13); ultimately both options appear in discussion about the passage in scholarship (summary on pp. 244-245). ETCSL goes with "gift".

Note that Gadotti’s interpretation would have interesting implications for Ereshkigal’s genealogy - it would appear as if Enlil and Anu provide her with a dowry in absence of her parents. It is worth stressing that her genealogy is indeed a mystery, and Inanna calling her “sister” doesn’t necessarily imply kinship (p. 13; cf. kings who viewed each other as equals calling each other “brother” in official letters); Ereshkigal never appears in association with Inanna’s standard parents (Nanna-Suen and Ningal) so she has a less firm claim to being one of her siblings than Ningublaga or Numushda do. Gadotti expanded this idea in a separate article, Never Truly Hers: Ereškigal's Dowry and the Rulership of the Netherworld, which is worth checking out just because of how entertaining it is:

I got convinced by her arguments, but that’s a topic for another time. The Enki passage is unrelated to the Ereshkigal one beyond also involving the underworld and thus setting up the core plot of the story, and most likely references a hitherto lost myth involving his journey to the underworld (Gadotti, p. 17). Needless to say, there is no evidence this myth, if it existed in the first place, has anything to do with the definitely nonexistent “dragon Kur”.

#mesopotamian miscellanea #mesopotamian mythology #sumerian mythology #ereshkigal

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batmanfruitloops · 1 year

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So I noticed that with the Riddler bingo for this AU's Riddler specifically the "Arkham" space was left empty. So that leaves me wondering: what does the Bat do with all of his baddies after he apprehends them? Because as stated with Joker's backstory Arkham exists, but it seems it's not going to be used, so then where does Batman deposit all of his captured baddies at?

This is actually pretty important to a lot of plot points, so this is going to be kind of long!

Batman wants justice and dangerous things to stop plaguing Gotham, but Arkham isn't really going to help that. It kind of just makes people worse. Joker having been in there would also make Batman reluctant to send others there, because he'd be so distraught about the idea. He's been there for years. He knows the personal hell that that becomes.

There are many more circumstantial factors that lend to not sending the rogues to Arkham as well;

A big one is that Batman isn't actually able to capture a lot of them. For instance, the Riddler and Scarecrow never really get close to being caught. They're too capable and have such methods of evasion. The closest Bats has come to catching one of those two is when he and the Joker started working together. Before Eddie worked with Jo, he operated remotely from a hideout and broadcasted his crimes and riddles. Bats had already been working on finding this hideout, and he had finally located it right before the Joker joined his force. (That's all I'll say about that instance for now) But others like Ivy, Harley, and Polka Dot Man always slip away and are untraceable.

Also another little extra thing: Riddler is able to find a lot of information on bad Gothamites, especially the elite that Bats otherwise can't find anything to present fact about, so if he lets him get away, he can bring more people to him basically.

(The car they're driving is actually one I'm in the middle of designing, a souped up car Ed made just for heists that he named Elsa, after the bride of Frankenstein's monster - I know it doesn't look like a car, but I swear I tried T_T)

Bats also lets a decent amount of them get away because they aren't big enough threats. An example of this would be Music Meister. Is he a public nuisance? Yes, but is he really causing any problems? No. In this he's kind of just a silly guy who happens to be metahuman that still wants to use his natural gifts. He's pretty much a theater kid with too much power in his hands.

There is also a section of the rogue gallery whose issues are resolved before being sent to Arkham would be necessary. Clayface, Manbat, and Babydoll are some such rogues. Their roles in this au will boil down to maybe a chapter or so, depending. Their situations mostly require careful handing (and in Manbat's case being cured) to go back to living as best they possibly can. They're able to be reasoned with and get help, if that makes sense? I'm not sure that's the correct wording, but you'll see when we get there.

If the rogues have enough money, power, or influence, they themselves could get out of being sent there. This is how Penguin at least avoids ever being sent there, or charged with anything besides a warning, really.

Batman has also had the unfortunate opportunity of meeting Hugo Strange, the head doctor of Arkham Asylum, as Bruce Wayne. He got to witness firsthand just how demented and intelligent that man is and he'd rather not give Strange more victims to his madhouse.

- Sarsee

#batmanfruitloops #anewgothamau #batman #dc #batman villains #batman rogues #gotham rogues #sars babbles #answers #batmanfruitloopslore

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inkheartedwanderer · 2 years

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please, let me get what i want || e.m.

(lord knows it would be the first time)

in which the wounds of the heart hurt more than those of the flesh, but they’re easier to fix

based on this song

eddie x reader.

content: post S4 (super minor spoilers), eddie survives, mentions of death and blood, this is mostly eddie’s headspace, i guess? pining, jealousy and insecurities. i just really want to give this guy a hug.

word count: 3k

Eddie Munson doesn’t consider himself a religious person. He’s dealt with too much shit in his short life to really care about whether there’s a higher power somewhere in the universe or not. If anything, he’d say he’s always been left to his own devices, so fuck whoever’s supposed to be looking after him. Theological matters are not something he’s ever been particularly concerned about, anyways.

Having spent the last ten days bound to a hospital bed, however, Eddie’s had plenty of time to reflect on his pathetic existence and the string of unfortunate events that have led him to this situation. In these ten days, he’s thought about his parents more often than he has in the last ten years -his father leaving for good after being in and out of prison for months, his mother’s untimely passing when he was too young to understand she was never coming back, and the sharp pain that floods his chest if he dwells on the thought of them for too long. He’s thought about Wayne, constantly taking extra shifts at the plant so he could put food on the table, and how he’s repaid him by failing senior year once, and then a second time. A triple-senior loser drug dealer, always being too much -too loud, too weird, too freakish-, but never enough. Not attractive enough, not smart enough, definitely not rich enough.

He’s also thought about death, and how closely he tasted it. The harrowing tangibility of his own mortality, sticking to his skin until he was coated in it, until he couldn’t breathe, washing over him like a tidal wave. He’s thought about Chrissy, and Patrick, and Nancy’s friend Fred, who weren’t as lucky as him. About how scared he was when Dustin found him, choking on his own blood, scared of dying, of dying alone, scared of what was waiting for him, scared that he wasn’t seeing any holy light amidst the darkness and he was supposed to, right?

And all he feels right now is guilt, because he’s thought about all of that and still, the main object of his musings the last ten days has been you. That’s why he’s considering that surely there must be some kind of deity, that there must be a heaven somewhere, because you’re an angel.

Soft in the way you speak and in the way you move, delicate when you touch him, Eddie still can’t believe that you’re not a figment of his imagination. In this aseptic limbo, the best part of his dreary days is getting to spend time with you. You, sweet as sugar, lovely as can be, arriving with the early morning light and leaving at nightfall when someone else forces you to go home and get some rest.

You didn’t even have it in you to pretend to be mad at him when he woke up, disoriented and confused, covered in bandages, every inch of his body sore and in pain. “You scared me half to death, Munson,” you’d said, looking at him through teary lashes, “don’t ever go playing the hero again, please.” It was a whispered imploration, so gently spoken that he could only nod his head yes.

He’d do anything you asked him to.

Ever since he met you, there’s a strange new feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach, or maybe just above, by his heart, and Eddie can’t quite put a name to it, can’t make sense of it, because he didn’t know who you were two weeks ago.

The feeling is warm and light, a comfortable weight in his chest that blooms in flowers and vibrates through his bones when you walk in the room, when you sit by his side and quietly start talking to him. About nothing, about everything -news about Max, who’s doing better by the day; a book or movie or song you like and think Eddie will enjoy too, the puppy that came up to you that morning on your way to the hospital-, whatever crosses your mind is good. And he listens willingly. He likes hearing your voice and its cadence, he likes how everything you say seems deliberate and how your smile shines through your words.

He felt it first in the cold, humid boathouse, as you sat side by side on the wooden floor for two days, your leg pressed against his and both of you scared to death. Eddie found solace in your company, in how you chose to stay with him even though you had, quite literally, just met him.

“We’re not leaving him here alone, Steve.” You’d said, an unexpected determination settling in the frown between your eyebrows.

And you didn’t, even though Steve tried to dissuade you and Max and Robin shared a worried look. You stayed, and told him things would be alright. You sat down next to him and let him hurt in silence when he needed to, and vent when his thoughts became too much.

You stayed, you sat and you listened to him without judgement, and suddenly you were looking out the window as the sun set outside, and your face was painted in shades of gold and lilac and Eddie had never seen anything quite as beautiful as you.

Minutes blended into hours and lighthearted comments turned into lengthy conversations inside that boathouse. In the rare times Eddie felt safe enough to let his guard down, his usual playful demeanour surfaced. Somehow, you found his knack for the dramatic hilarious, and countered his witty remarks with your own, good-natured and sprightly, with just the right amount of mischief to keep up with him.

The feeling blossomed in his heart and took shelter between his ribs, a nice kind of ache, one Eddie wasn’t used to, but that felt strangely familiar, as if he had been born to feel it, to find you, to know you. Damn his fantasy books and their promise of adventure and true love, and damn those metal songs for tricking him into thinking freaks like him could find the one, too.

But it grows heavy sometimes, a lead blanket that weighs him down and makes him feel vulnerable, minuscule. When his insecurities take over, it’s easy to believe the darkness that clouds his brain, his own voice humming harsh cruelties, reminding him of everything that he is -loud, weird, a freak- and everything he’s not -not enough, never enough, and not Steve fucking Harrington.

How could he ever compete if he doesn’t even compare?

Although you’ve mentioned before that Steve’s like the brother you’ve never had, it’s hard for Eddie not to read too much into the way he looks at you, or how easy it is for him to reach out and touch you, how easy it is for you to lean into it, and just how fucking much Eddie wants to be the one by your side… well, at all times.

Like right now.

It’s late. Eddie’s not sure exactly how late, but the sky outside is the colour of dark blue ink, splattered with stars, and the rusty orange glow of the streetlamps is casting shadows across the floor of his hospital room. He’s just woken up from a long nap, one of the many his body demands every day (who knew that almost dying would be so exhausting?) and the chair beside his bed is empty, your jacket draped over its back, your perfume lingering in the air.

He sighs deeply, eyes closed, sinking against the pillow. There’s an ache in his bones that doesn’t seem to go away despite all the painkillers the doctors have put him on, and it clings to him like the cold in the room. He’s tired and he’s cranky, it’s hard not to be when inhaling feels like breathing fire and he’s only allowed to get out of bed to go to the toilet; even harder when he looks out the ajar door and sees you, leaning against the wall next to Steve, eyes closed, your head on his shoulder.

The boy’s hands are respectfully tucked between his legs, and his gaze is trained on the floor. You are muttering to one another in low voices that Eddie can’t make out, but you look exhausted. Harrington, of course, looks straight out of a magazine with perfect hair and fancy clothes.

Eddie stares forlornly, eyebrows furrowed and pouting lips. He wishes more than anything to be the one to ease the worry on your face, the one you go to for support, for company, for advice. Still, the weight in his ribcage and the lump in his throat are too heavy to call your name, tell you to come and sit, tell you that he’ll let you rest your head on his shoulder and he’ll even hold your hand, ask you to please let him.

It’s a sensation he knows all too well, the bitter resentment of feeling like the second, third, last, worse choice. He’s good at pushing and pushing it down until it becomes nothing but a dark smudge at the back of his mind. This time, though, it poisons him from within until it’s all he tastes in his mouth.

And the worst part is he can’t even hate Steve. He’s been kind to Eddie. He helped him get out of the trailer park alive, he’s come to keep him company every other day, and he’s actually a pretty nice dude. Could he really blame you if you fell in love with Steve? He doesn’t believe so, but his throat constricts at the thought.

But as if you could read his mind, you open your eyes and find his gaze with yours. Suddenly, the sullen expression is gone from your face, the corners of your mouth are curving upwards and you're moving away from Steve and into the room.

"Hey, you're awake!" Your voice is soft, barely a loud whisper, and the dim light from the hall obscures your silhouette for a fraction of a second as you rush through the door and plop down on the worn-out chair by his side.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way your hand falls to rest on the bed, close to his own, twin sets of fingers twitching, tips tingling, eager for contact. He doesn’t dare move, but he looks up at you and you’re wearing the sweetest smile he’s ever seen in his life, the type of smile he’s never felt worthy of receiving.

His voice is hoarse with sleep and stuck emotions when he mutters, “Yeah, hi. You’re here.” The boy gasps when he feels the gentle touch of your fingers on the back of his hand, drawing circles and waves that ripple through his blood and tint his cheeks pink. Your smile widens, becomes softer, and your eyes mirror the look in his, shiny with unspoken affection.

“I’m gonna go see Max and then I’m out.” Steve, leaning against the rails of the bed, throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods his head at you. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

You shake your head no and tuck your hand in Eddie’s, and he swears he sees the sparks flying where his skin and yours touch. “I’m staying here tonight if that’s alright with you.” A gentle pressure of your fingers brings Eddie’s attention back to your eyes. “Is it?”

He nods, the most subtle movement, almost a blink-and-you-miss-it gesture, but enough for you to chuckle and tell your friend to go.

“Alright then,” Steve pats Eddie on the shoulder, more gently than anyone would expect from him, that fervent need to look after people shining through, so characteristically Steve, Eddie has learned, “you take care of each other, yeah? I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

And, with a soft smile, he leaves without waiting for an answer, leaving you two alone. A comfortable silence fills the room, one you’re both used to by now, as you stand and move around the space, placing your backpack on the windowsill, getting ready to spend the night by Eddie’s side. His skin still feels the ghost of your hand over his, its absence an emptiness that he yearns to fill again.

"You don't have to stay, you know that, right?" He whispers, the remnants of his jealousy still burning on his tongue, words fighting against his own willpower when he speaks next. “You should go home and get some rest. Go find Steve, go home.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, mirroring his tone but softer, sweeter, oozing a kindness Eddie’s not sure he’s earned. “I want to stay. Plus, I had a great nap earlier today.”

Eddie doesn’t understand why you’re so nice to him all the time, but he’s not about to argue. He falls silent, looking up at the ceiling as you sit down, bend your arms and lean on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes studying his face carefully, blinking slowly, and your lips turning upwards.

“Do you remember when we were hiding in Skull Rock?” You say, sitting down and bringing your knees to your chest.

“Yeah.” Eddie frowns. The memories of his days on the run are the most unwelcome ones.

Soaked and tired, covered in mud and sticky leaves, you sat side by side under the solid protection of the rock. Eddie was trying hard not to cry, not in front of you. It would’ve been the cherry on top of the cake, and the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself further.

He leaned his head against the stone and willed himself to calm down. He then looked at you through pinched eyebrows, calling your name softly. “I’m sorry.”

You rubbed your clammy cheek with the back of your hand and shrugged. “This is not your fault, Eddie.” It hurt to see the pained expression on the boy’s brown eyes, their usual sweetness replaced by pure despair, their spark gone.

“But it is.” The boy shut his eyes tight and ran a dirty hand through his hair. It felt gross, messy and knotted. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me. This sucks. I’m sorry.”

A cold hand wrapped around his, pulling it away from his face, and you were looking at him with so much resolve he almost fell backwards. “Eddie, I said I’d stay with you and I meant it. And I’d do it again, alright? I’ll be damned if I let you go through this alone. Okay?”

Eddie blinked and you blinked back at him. Your next words cut through the cold air of the early dawn like a knife, an arrow straight to his heart. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your eyes now are softer than they were that night, but the conviction shining on them is just as firm, exuding reassurance and affection just for him, an affection you’ve never felt for anyone before but the boy in front of you earned in a matter of hours. “My word still stands.”

No, Eddie Munson is not a religious person, but later tonight, when he wakes up after a vivid nightmare, he looks at your figure, curled up on that ugly, uncomfortable chair, so close to him that he can hear your soft breathing, so close he could caress your cheek if he reached out; and then he looks at the clear dark sky behind you, and the million shiny stars that frame you, rings of diamonds with you at the centre, and then Eddie whispers a quiet prayer, a humble plea, a wish for only him and the quiet of the night to know.

He asks for you to stay, once again, to stay as you have before, like you said you would; he pleads to keep the one good thing that's come out of this nightmare, the best thing that's happened to him in a long time, maybe ever.

Eddie Munson calls to the gods, the ones people talk about on the street and the ones he knows from his books and his games, and he confronts them -his life is a mess, where are they, where have they been all this time- and bargains -they owe him, they owe him this one thing, this wish that's hidden like a secret in his heart-, and whispers your name like a sacred prayer, very low and very carefully, cherishing every letter, kissing them as the air leaves his lips.

And he truly thinks you can read his mind, there must be a connection between you two, because your eyes flutter open, and they gleam in the faint light that creeps under the closed door when you look at him, and your mouth curves upwards in that sweet way you save for only him.

You look so lovely, with your hair tousled and your cheeks apple pink, so sweet in your big clothes that seem to swallow you whole -in his sleepy state, it takes him a second to realise you’re wearing an old black hoodie of his-, that Eddie feels his heart skip a beat, and two and three. It’s overwhelming, really, how much he likes someone he’s just met, someone he barely knows. It’s worse when he notices you’re looking at him the way he’s looking at you.

The chair scrapes the floor when you pull it closer to his bed, and you lean your head on the uncomfortable mattress, your temple against his shoulder. Your hand travels down his arm until your fingers can wrap around his, warm and soft against his calloused digits.

Eddie blinks back the tears that threaten to fall from his tired eyes. You’re real, and you’re there by his side, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s the only other person in the world.

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back. Your twin giggles break through the silence of the hospital room. Maybe for now, this is enough.

The stars outside twinkle when he looks out the window again, the words dying between his lips. Thank you.

🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: thank you for reading if you’ve made it to the end, I hope you liked it. I had the song on repeat for hours when I started this one, and it’s both very sad and very beautiful, I had to write something. Likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome and appreciated. Much love!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson angst #angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

Text

I posted 541 times in 2022

That's 541 more posts than 2021!

317 posts created (59%)

224 posts reblogged (41%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mikami1992

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2

@stealingyourbones

@ashoutinthedarkness

@maribatshipper

I tagged 443 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#danny phantom - 224 posts

#dp x dc - 209 posts

#fanfiction prompts - 197 posts

#prompts - 193 posts

#danny fenton - 190 posts

#batman - 104 posts

#the alien answers - 102 posts

#robin - 74 posts

#tim drake - 65 posts

#damian wayne - 65 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#tim does not get coffee though and hes mad about it but he also really likes how the water in his tiny bird bath feels on his feathers

My Top Posts in 2022:

Au where Danny somehow managed to wipe any proof of his existence from the face of the planet, including the memories people had of him. He tells himself this was fine. Better than fine actually.

This just means that his loved ones were less likely to get hurt in the crossfire. Also Vlad is now clueless as to why he's in Amity in the first place and as Mayor no less. He resigns within a week to go back to Wisconsin after three days of nonstop blathering from Jack.

Danny basically starts living in a lake in the woods, its not like he needs to breath and he finds the water calming. Also the fish are friendly. Plus there's a cave nearby if he needed to stay in human form for whatever reason.

He had water and shelter, down now he just needed access to food unless he wanted to eat his new fish friends.

This is when Danny learned he could use the weird magical girl ring to shape-shift into other people.

So he got into the habit of transforming into one of the residents of a house and raiding the pantries.

This turned out to be a pretty open secret amongst the people of Amity Park. They knew it was Phantom, primarily because he's a terrible liar but also because people have cell phones and communicate.

This is never really an issue since no one tells the Fentons or the Feds. At least, it wasn't an issue until the Justice League came sniffing around. The people of Amity have only become more untrusting of the government as years passed and became equally as protective over thier local ghostboy. So everytime they came around no one but the Fentons would say anything to them other than, "Leave." Or "You're not wanted here." Before walking away.

It was a day like any other for Phantom. Some teens had rented out a house in town, likely to experience the most haunted town in America. Whatever. Teens always bring the best snacks.

So he transformed into the cute redheaded guy right after they left and walked past the living room towards the kitchen like he's done a dozen times before.

"Uh, Wally?" Dannys head whipped around to see the black haired teen sitting on the couch, his blue eyes wide with shock and worry. The one with a Superman t-shirt on. "Are you ok? Your heartbeat is really slow."

Danny could only think of one word to sum up this situation. Fuuuuuckk

3,268 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

Au where all the ghosts hide thier real names on instinct, not only because knowing a ghosts name gives you power over them but because you could use thier name to potentially find thier grave through magic or Google.

Once you find thier bones there's no shortage of what you could do.

Due to the nature of Embers obsession she isn't able to hide her name and during a fight she reveals to Phantom she lives in a constant state of anxiety fearing someone might find her body and use it against her

Phantom knocks on her door a week later with not only her body but her entire casket floating behind him. She's oddly touched. This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her. Word, of course, spreads of this and other spirits ask him to do the same for them and are willing to make deals

Another week later Batman is investigating all the robbed graves and trying to figure out wtf is going on

Edit: Yes the removal of the caskets cause the graves to sink in and thats how Batman is alerted to the issue. I had left this as an implication but felt the need to clarify due to people talking about it in the notes.

Edit 2: You could also have a grave keeper see Phantom stealing caskets and alert authorities. Whats more this is likely happening in more than just Gotham. You could also have another ghost/ a magic user see this super powerful spirit robbing graves and being like, "Well that seems ominous. I should tell someone about that."

Please forgive me for adding more, I have no control over myself

3,286 notes - Posted June 29, 2022

Au where Danny ends up in Gotham and gets saved by the birds while in human form. He starts pseudo haunting them before returning to Amity Park.

He frequently pops back in to Gotham to invisibility give gifts to the batfam.

Dick gets circus themed things that seem to move around the manor when no one is looking.

Stephanie and Tim both get comics, manga and movies from different dimensions and its only once they start looking up fandoms/ going on Twitter do they realize that these manga/movies apparently don't exist.

The same thing happens with Jason and books. The weird part is that after he finishes reading one of the books for the nth time, (the ones that he and Duke swears glow) and finally retires it to the shelf they disappear. This only happens with the glowey books though. He gets to keep the others

Damian keeps getting new swords, which everyone but him has a problem with.

Duke keeps getting things that activate his powers and he can't really make heads or tails from most of it.

Cass gets lots of soft things like stuffed animals that are nice for hugs and other sensory reasons and dance stuff. Her favorite so far is a gigantic bat in a tutu.

Barbara and Tim (he gets double i guess) both get tech stuff that they've never seen before and make a hobby of reverse engineering the new product of the week.

Alfred gets all sorts of gag gifts like an apron that says "I'm the real boss here" and a mug that has a fancy mustache on the bottom that matches his real one

Bruce gets almost exclusively much bat themed gifts.

No one is sure where the stuff is coming from (and in Jason's case where its going) but they all assume its someone else in the family doing it because its themed around both thier hero and thier personal interests. It finally comes to a head when the batfam are all out together when they come home to find a beautiful and ornate sword laying on the kitchen table for Damian and they all simultaneously realize no one had been home to put it there.

Alfred gets the shotgun while everyone else enters detectives mode.

Danny himself doesn't even realize the extent in which he's been messing with them and doesn't really think past the, "I hope they like their gifts" thing.

3,345 notes - Posted July 15, 2022

Au where Danny gets deaged by a magical artifact in the GZ and gets lost in a different dimension with Cujo. While exploring Gotham as Phantom he decides to play up the little kid routine and use his puppy friend to do it.

At this point Danny had finally trained the pup and he actually listened to him. Needless to say there's a certain flock of bats and birds who keep pestering him at night. All he's trying to do is explore the city and play with his dog. Is that so bad?

Danny doesnt usually bother hiding from them. Not much point considering he shines like a spotlight in Gothams gloom anytime he's in his phantom form. Plus Cujo is glowy and green, so that doesn't help matters.

Danny usually runs them on a wild goose chase in the name of "Tag" before disappearing. He stole Batmans cape by phasing it off of him and he now uses it as a blanket at night (its surprisingly warm), he stole another one at Red Hoods request and gave it to him, he's set up play dates between Cujo and Harleys hyenas, he's pied Joker in the face, he's pet Penguins pet penguins right in front of him, he's been trapped in an elevator with Brucie Wayne for two hours, he's had a tea party with Catwomans cats and may have broken into her apartment to do it, he's kidnapped Red Robin and made him go to the park and play on the swings with him, he's gotten into actual fights with Robin and last but not least, he came up with the Puppy Paw of Approval.

---

Nightwing stared at the kid they had been chasing every other night for the last three months now, confused. "Whats the Puppy Paw of Approval?"

The kid moved the puppy, Cujo (which Jason finds hilarious) up in front of his face, holding him there by his armpits.

The dog was making the "no thoughts head empty" face with his tongue sticking out just a smidge. Dick was tempted to coo. "The Puppy Paw of Approval is an award! Arf!" The kid said in a higher pitched pretend voice.

"Its awarded to people we really really like! Arf!"

Nightwing gasped dramatically, playing along with the boy, "You really like me that much?"

"Of course!" The boy floated over to Dick and places one of the dogs paws on the man's chest. "Da da da daaa!" The kid sang, "You now have the Puppy Paw of Approval!"

The vigilante sniffled, "I will always cherish this! Thank you!"

The kid giggled and Cujo barked at him. The little green rottweiler panted up at him with a giants smile and his little nub tail wagging a mile and minute.

God, Nightwing couldn't wait for his newest little brother to join the family.

Dick was dismayed to learn he was actually the second person to get the PPA. The first being Tim, the third being Harley and the forth being Catwoman. Ivy was apparently salty about not getting one but the kid was scared of her for some reason.

Danny makes friends with lots of people throughout the city. Scarecrow learns of the bats recruitment attempts on this boy and decides to use the fear toxin on him. This has the unexpected outcome of making the child cry.

And then the whole city was out for his head.

3,508 notes - Posted August 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Theres a new mom and pop coffee shop in Gotham that's doing pretty well. The place has a casual playful vibe but it only ever has one employee, which has lead to it having a bit of a urban myth status.

He's there through all the opening hours and no one ever sees him come or go, only the lights switching off and the teen disappearing.

It probably doesn't help that the shop has a ghost themed name.

His name tag reads, "Nightingale" and he always has a polite smile, but the few who dare to act out in his shop notice his eyes flash a particular shade of green and are suddenly overcome with the feeling that they're being stared down by a large apex predator and a sickening sense of dread.

Needless to say people behave in his shop.

Whats more is that his store shows up on county records just fine, but if you try to look into anything your computer glitches out and you can't find anything. Obviously "Nightingale" can't be the owner, he looks only 15. Some say he's a vampire, others say he's a zombie like Red Hood.

Tim doesn't care what he is because the first time he entered at night as Red Robin the guy immediately started making a coffee were he could see, made it exactly how he liked it and gave it to him before he even had the chance to order. Then he refused his money, saying it was on the house.

None of the people waiting in line argued or were upset and Tim was unsure if that was because he was a well known Gotham vigilante or it Nightingales reputation protected him.

Either way the coffee was delicious.

Tim didn't know how to feel when he found out his family was investigating the "possible runaway" who worked at the coffee shop.

3,554 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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felicialawrence · 2 years

Text

Mania (Bruce Wayne)

TWs: (2) Toxic Relationships, Stalking

Oh, God, it was torturous. It hurt so much that he couldn't even put it into words. The way it burned him inside. The feeling of fresh anger and jealousy. Almost parasitic. The way it scratched its way down his throat, infecting his mind with thoughts. Feeding the hatred against anyone who looked at you.

You were so perfect. So completely unfathomable. How could someone as bruised and scarred as him find you? Perfect, flawless you.

Yes, his admiration was feeding into an obsession, curling up and consuming him whole. But the way his heart ached to be with you. The way every time he touched you, electricity pulsed through him, sparks further igniting the flames of desire that were already roaring.

The way he loved you was poison. So self-destructive. But so comforting. He had never known pain like this, even with what he did in the darkest of nights. The secret he kept between him and the rain sifted with fog, smog, dirty, dark streets of Gotham. How he could literally rip his heart out of his chest and tear it to pieces, but put it back together like a delicate piece of porcelain.

How on earth could you be so kind to him? You were beautiful just by existing, but your smile? Your laugh? Now it was intoxicating in a whole new way. The drugs had none of the pure headrush and heart palpitations he got from just looking at her. But being able to do it. Bruce Wayne was dead on the spot.

The heart in his chest that once beat for nothing and no one but the city itself, now beats feverishly for you…just an iota of your attention, if that much. He would do anything to get you to look at him the way he looks at you. Oh, now that would make him fall to the floor; Knees weak and trembling with desire and happiness.

There was no place for anything but you in his heart, Your name was everywhere, carved into his chest like the trunk of an oak tree where two lovers lay.

He stopped eating. He stopped sleeping altogether… even less than usual. Just so you could maybe pay a little attention to him. Show him that you care enough to make sure he takes care of himself. And on those rare occasions when he could fall into the arms of sweet sleep, you were always there in his dreams. Greeting him with that smile and laugh. He struggled to tell what was real and what was not. His thoughts were entangled in you.

Bruce loved from afar, not once proclaiming his adoration and intrigue in you. If only it could be called that right now. It was much more passion. An obsession beyond all obsessions.

Sometimes he would turn into a wanderer. Following you home. Don't leave until the light in your one-room apartment is on and then off again. Until you text him good night.

So of course he would have struck gold being your closest friend?

No.

He wanted more. He longed for your kiss. His darkest, deepest thoughts. The two AM conversations. That intimacy he had been deprived of his entire life, all because of his own self-control. How he had the willpower not to take away his innocence, he had no idea. But he still wanted it. The innermost workings of his mind. The breath that was caught in his throat. The feel of her warmth close to him. All of it. No matter how dark. No matter how terrifying. He wanted it. And that included the parts you avoided in the bathroom mirror. No - he needed this. It was oxygen for him.

Bruce Wayne simply couldn't function without you being his. Properly.

But it was never meant to be. For the day Bruce discovered how bitter and unforgiving love could be was the same day you broke his heart in two. And there was no way to repair it now. Not like you had done before. That familiar feeling of nausea overtook him, his head spinning with jealousy attached to it, bubbling to the brim. He wanted to explode. It screamed at you that he was here.

'I am the chosen one! I am like me!'

But he did nothing. Again, these feelings were parasitic. And it was all because of a simple 'I'd like to find a guy like you.

#bruce wayne #batman #christian bale #reader #bruce wayne x reader #fanfic #angst #toxic relationship #tw

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eyes-of-mischief · 1 year

Text

weekly fic recs | 40

fandoms: bnha, mdzs, svsss, tgcf

bnha

Everything Will Be Okay by iizukuus

“Stop. Fucking stop that. Tell me what the fuck that was in the damn video, Deku.” Deku. The Deku in the video. That Deku… That Deku does not exist. It could not have happened to him. He did not get held up after school that day. He does not remember. He was not touched. Not him. Not strong, UA Deku. Any other Deku before UA does not exist. It did not happen. So, Izuku looks at Kacchan, and he asks again, flatly. “What are you talking about.”

Class 1A gets sent an old video of Izuku from a time he thought he buried and everything for him falls apart from there. (His family is there to pick up the pieces.)

always sunny (in the rich man's world) by aloneintherain

Jon can barely see the delivery man behind the massive bouquet spilling out of his arms. He doesn’t know much about flowers, but he can tell this arrangement is beautiful. And expensive. Red and black wild flowers sprout up between thorny roses, held together by a dark ribbon.

“I think you have the wrong house,” Jon says.

The delivery man turns and checks the number on their mailbox. “Nope. This is it.”

Jon is just wondering whether he has to contact the Justice League about this would-be stalker when Kon thunders down the stairs. “They’re for me!”

(Or: The Kents and Waynes find out that Tim’s love language is gift giving.

Kon isn’t a sugar baby. Really, he isn’t. He isn’t.)

I'm a Good Pretender by shipNslash

“You’re doing it again,” Bruce says, tone accusatory. “You’re faking.”

“It’s not faking,” Dick snaps, a little more aggressive than he means to be. But he doesn’t like that word, doesn’t like the connotations.

(Especially when he knows Bruce is lying about something, too.)

“Then what is it?”

“It’s called being charming and it’s nice.”

-_-

Dick’s mother raised her son to be a star. Dick’s father raised his son to be an athlete.

Bruce's new ward is charming (manipulative), dedicated (obsessive), and way, way too smart for either of their own good.

mdzs

never beat, never break by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight)

(major character death)

A-Yuan cries. It is the only sound with meaning. He cries in the restless choked waves of a child beyond hope of relief, who believes that crying is all that is left to him.

Lan Wangji lies still and listens and is grateful for the sound, insofar as he is anything.

Lan Wangji doesn't die under the discipline whip. It takes time to come to terms with this.

maybe together we can get somewhere (any place is better) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool

Lan Zhan is six years old.

He lost a baby tooth three weeks ago, his favorite toy is a plush rabbit named Didi, and he makes his bed every morning when he wakes up. Mother used to tuck him in at night after putting Lan Huan to bed. She’d come into his room with a storybook in hand and read to him until his eyes drooped, her warm voice and gentle smile lulling him to sleep. He misses her comforting smell, like cookies.

He doesn’t know why she went away, and when Lan Huan explains it doesn’t make sense. He says Mother is gone and she still loves them very much, but they can’t see her again. Lan Zhan tries to understand, he waits outside her bedroom door in the east wing of their home, but she never opens the door. He tries to enter the attic where Father sent her, but he can’t reach the top rung of the pull down ladder, and Lan Huan shakes his head when he asks for his brother’s help.

She can’t come down, A-Zhan, Father said we’re not allowed.

A modern au where Qingheng-jun raises his children. He is not the father they need.

tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer

(explicit)

The Yiling Patriarch makes a bargain with the cultivation world. He'll give them the power to defeat Wen Ruohan. No more death. No more war.

All he wants in return is Lan Wangji.

svsss

Abandoned by HeyOkayMeow

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence)

“What did you do?” Mobei Jun whispers shakily, stepping backwards again. His boots squelch in something that he can’t and doesn’t want to identify. “Survive,” Shang Qinghua chokes out. “That’s all I ever do.” He swallows roughly and looks into Mobei Jun’s eyes, his own still blown wide. “Why didn’t you come?”

Mobei Jun doesn’t answer Shang Qinghua’s calls. Shang Qinghua does what he has to. They both face the consequences.

white light in your arms tonight by tardigradeschool

(major character death)

Luo Binghe peeks up at him, eyes rimmed nearly as red as his demon mark. “Shizun won’t send me away from him?”

Slowly, almost involuntarily, Shen Qingqiu's arms come up to embrace Luo Binghe in return. He’s already gone totally off-script here, what’s a little more adlibbing? He has fifteen seconds left before Luo Binghe must enter the Abyss. “I won’t,” he says quietly. “But you must be brave, Binghe. This will not be easy, but there is only one place for us to go. Shizun is sorry.”

The two of them are only a few paces away from the cliff. Even without access to his cultivation, Shen Qingqiu has a height advantage, and more importantly, he has surprise on his side. It is almost too easy to clutch Luo Binghe tighter in his arms, step forward, and --

Shen Qingqiu really hopes he doesn’t die when he hits the bottom. That would be so embarrassing.

tgcf

Imaginary Calamity Xie Lian by hoarder_of_stories

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence)

During the 800 years, Hua Cheng fantasizes about some ways Xie Lian might treat him when they meet up again. He most recently interacted with book 4!Xie Lian, so he and his degradation kink are a bit off. It’s okay, though, Xie Lian will eventually show him he deserves good things.

Hua Cheng knows of Xie Lian’s cultivation method, but perhaps he’s found another. Maybe, and Hua Cheng hopes against hope, he would allow Hua Cheng to serve him in that as well. In moments of weakness, Hua Cheng has imagined that he might, learned all that he could of the art of pleasure so that he would be ready if Dianxia - he laughs at himself - ever wanted that from him.

Hua Cheng shoves reality away and imagines Xie Lian commanding him to kneel. “You’ll do,” Xie Lian might say coldly, and allow Hua Cheng to pleasure him with his mouth.

svsss x mdzs

Plot Deviations Are Blessings by Library_of_Gage

“San Lang! You’re just in ti— Who’s this?”

Luo Binghe blinks and looks over his shoulder, surprised to see a young man he didn’t sense. With the warm smile, gentle demeanor, and simple white robes, he comes off as mostly harmless. Behind him is another table with two chairs side-by-side. Parchment, various types of brushes, and several ink pots are neatly placed on the table as though he was about to start practicing calligraphy.

“Gege,” the demon says, his voice significantly deeper and happier than before, “I’ve done something good.”

Something about the words and the way they’re said feels achingly familiar; he’s searching for praise and doesn’t seem to care how obvious he is about it.

#weekly fic recs #no prompt #bnha fic recs #mdzs fic recs #svsss fic recs #tgcf fic recs #bnha #mdzs #svsss #tgcf

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faeprincefelix · 2 years

Text

I was in your wet dream

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, swearing

You and Eddie have been best friends since forever. Sharing a bed is nothing new for the both of you, but when Eddie starts talking in his sleep everything changes.

You and Eddie had been best friends since infancy. In fact you didn't remember a time when he wasn't a huge part of your life. It had been you and him against the world for most of your early life. Your friendship circles getting a little bigger as you entered high school, but you still made sure to make time for each other. Eddie had come round to yours late this evening after a particularly hard day. Jason, one of the idiot jocks at school, had decided it would be fun to play a game where he and his tribe of idiots threw food at Eddie across the cafeteria. Though Eddie had laughed it off at the time and pretended he didn't care- simply making smart arse comments in reply, you knew that sometimes they got to him. Eddie didn't have a lot of people in his life who made him feel worthy, a fact you hated. It wasn't rare for Eddie to stay over at yours when he got like this, Wayne worked nights a lot and Eddie didn't want to be alone. For most of your life you never gave sharing a bed with him a second thought but around six months ago your feelings had begun to wander past that line of friendship. You refused to do anything about it, you were Eddie's safe space and you didn't want to make things awkward and let him down. He'd been let down far too many times, and you'd be damned if you let your crush get in the way of the wonderful friendship you both had.

You couldn't deny though, it was difficult being like this with him. His fingers curled into the front of your tshirt, head nuzzled into your back. You'd tried to fall asleep you really had, but your thoughts were racing. The weed you'd both smoked earlier wasn't helping to calm you at all. You thought instead about what you'd do to Jason Carver if the law didn't exist. Jason had been obsessed with putting Eddie down for years. You hated him. Hated what he stood for. Hated that people in that school treat him like a god. More than anything you hated that you weren't there with Eddie anymore. He didn't need your protection and was more than capable of defending himself but that didn't mean you didn't want to be there to support him still.

Eddie shifted in his sleep, his hand slipping to your waist. You cursed in your head at the electricity it sent through you. You closed your eyes, once again trying to fall asleep, then all of a sudden a soft moan fell from Eddie's lips. Another, deeper this time. He was mumbling but you couldn't hear what he was saying. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying desperately to fall asleep immediately and shut down the reaction you were having.

"Oh fuck yeah" Eddie moaned, loud enough for you to hear this time. It took a few seconds for you to realise what was going on. Blood instantly rushing to your cheeks as you put it all together. Shit. You didn't know what to do. If you moved you'd wake him up and the last thing you wanted was for him to get so embarrassed about it that he left. You had earplugs in your bedside drawer. If you could just manage to reach for them then you could pretend none of this was happening.

"Yes y/n- just like that" Eddie mumbled, more moans falling from his lips. Your eyes were wide with shock and you almost thought that you'd misheard him til he groaned your name once again. You didn't know what it meant, didn't dare to dream. Eddie adjusted his position, his hard cock pressing against your arse and you whimpered. Carefully you moved his hand off your waist, turning on to your other side, facing him. You had put more distance between you, still unsure of what to do.

"Eddie" you whispered, tentatively stroking a hand through his hair. He stirred a little but was still lost in the dream. You repeated his name, louder this time, hand nudging him. His eyes fluttered open, goofy smile on his face at first. One that quickly fell as his brain caught up with the situation.

"Shit" he cursed "i- shit- was i talking in my sleep?" Eddie wasn't really asking, you could tell by the way he was looking at you. He clearly knew you were aware of what he'd been dreaming about. "Fuck- I-" he stumbled over his words, shuffling back on the bed

You reached a hand out to stop him, fingertips brushing back and forth on his skin "it's okay Eddie". He looked at you confused. Studying you for a second, before his eyes wandered down, stopping when he saw your hard nipples through your t-shirt.

"Oh" he swallowed. You wanted to say something, but you didn't know how. Both just staring at each other in shocked silence. Eddie was the one to make the first move. He reached out, fingers delicately tracing your jaw. "Is this okay?" his voice a little shaky.

"Yes" you reached out for him in return, shuffling closer to him, and running your thumb across his neck "and this?"

Eddie nodded. His eyes darted down to your lips and this time you lent in first. Lips touching his gently, still not fully confident yet. Still not entirely convinced you weren't dreaming. Eddie kissed you back, deepening the kiss and soon your hands were in each other's hair. Bodies moving closer on the bed until they were touching. Eddie was still semi-hard and the feel of him against you again made you moan into his mouth. He smirked, sliding his tongue inside your mouth. You parted, both needing to catch your breath. "Can't tell you how long i've thought about doing that y/n."

"Me too" you echoed. Your heart was pounding, half from the thrill of what was happening and half from the fear of what this would mean for the two of you going forward. You didn't want to think about that right now, you just wanted to get lost in him. "Kiss me again" it was part question, part order. Eddie didn't hesitate, the kiss hungrier this time. His hand came down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, smirking once again as you whimpered. You wrapped your leg around his waist. Eddie's hand was on your thigh immediately, caressing and kneading the skin.

"So pretty" he muttered as he pulled away, lips ghosting against the nape of your neck. Your breath hitching in anticipation. He started by pressing a few gentle kisses across your skin. Niping and sucking as he got more confident. It felt amazing and you moaned loud as his mouth connected with a certain spot. He chuckled to himself "those sounds- even better than in my dream." He sucked on your neck hard, making you squirm.

"Tell me about the dream" you panted "tell me exactly what i was doing that you got you in this state." Your hand was now rubbing against his bulge through his boxers.

"Are- are you sure?" Eddie's eyes were full of concern. And you knew what he was thinking, you were thinking it too. There would be no going back from this point. A few kisses- you could both pretend that didn't happen, blame it on the weed. But this.

"I'm sure Eddie" you replied softly "if you're comfortable telling me- you don't have to if you don't want to." You eyes darted away from him nervously and he gripped your chin, bringing your gaze back up to meet his.

"Oh believe me, i want to" Eddie was wearing a lazy smile and you couldn't help but hide your head in his chest. He stroked your hair comfortingly. "It's weird for me too" he reassured you "not bad weird obviously- we don't have to continue, we can stop if you need to." You didn't reply at first and he continued. "I-" his voice was nervous again "i've liked you for a while now y/n, i just didn't know how to tell you, thought you might see me like a brother or some dumb shit"

"Eww" you laughed, hitting him on the chest. "Just to clarify i don't think of you like a brother, that'd be really fucking weird considering i just kissed you, idiot." You shook your head at him. "I've liked you for a while now too" you admitted "but what does this mean for us?"

"I guess it means whatever we want it to mean?" Eddie answered. A perfect answer really. One that earned him another kiss. "I think we don't put pressure on ourselves, just do what feels right in the moment, yeah sweetheart?"

You nodded, giving him another peck on the lips. "I still want you to tell me about the dream- i'm intrigued- need to know what i'm getting myself into."

Eddie laughed "alright then". He pushed you backwards so that you were now laid on your back on your bed and hovered over you. Hands on either side of your head to hold himself up. "I'm not gonna lie I didn't get too far into the dream before you woke me up but i'll tell you everything I did manage to dream." He leaned down kissing you fiercely and your hands moved to his arms. "It started with us in my trailer, getting high and listening to music and I dared you to do a strip tease for me, then you were in just your underwear standing between my legs and you gave me a look and-." Eddie paused, taking a breath, goosebumps appeared on his skin as you ran your fingers up and down his arms. You nodded, letting him know he was okay to continue. "And then you were unbuttoning my jeans and dragging them off- and you were on your knees taking me into your mouth" you could hear the arousal building in his voice. "And then you woke me up-" he stuck his tongue out at you.

"Dreaming about me sucking you off, how unoriginal" you chastised him jokingly. Reciting the dream to you had made him hard again and you palmed him over the fabric.

"What can i say, i'm a simple man" his voice was getting breathy already which only egged you on. The awkwardness of the situation now starting to dissipate. His lips found their way back to your neck, this time his actions harsher and more unforgiving. Dragging almost constant whimpers and moans from you. Your hand speeding up its pace, cupping him once. He groaned loudly against your neck, and you cursed under your breath. "Feels so good" he murmured, moving out from your touch and shuffling down, head now at your waist. His fingers resting on the hem of your t-shirt, he looked back up at you "can I?" You nodded, giving him permission and helping him to free you of the fabric. Eddie was quiet as his eyes took in the view. "Christ, you're so fucking beautiful." You couldn't help but blush, not used to compliments said like that from him. He placed kisses down from your throat, slowly travelling your body. His hand cautiously moving to your breast, looking up at you, making sure you didn't want him to stop.

You could feel that he was shaking a little which surprised you. Eddie was more experienced than you. You weren't a virgin or anything but Eddie had certainly had more flings. He pinched your nipple between this thumb and finger and you cried out. Eddie's eyes were watching you, filled with lust. "Did you ever dream about me doing this?" He almost whispered, taking you by surprise.

"Yes" your own voice was shaky, affected by his touch. "Dreamt about your hands and mouth all over me." It still felt a little weird to admit that to him but you were trying to get past it.

"Really?" He teased "like this?" His hand still groping your breast, his mouth journeyed down further, taking his time to pay attention to every inch of your skin. Licking a trail at the waistband of your pajama shorts, a curse word leaving you. He repeated the action, fingers now resting on your waistband, once again finding your gaze to gain permission. You swallowed before nodding. He pulled your shorts off, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he realised you weren't wearing any underwear underneath. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, before he came back up, kissing you passionately. "You're magnificent y/n, you know that" he stroked your cheek gently "now are you gonna let me make you feel real good?"

"Yes" your voice was faint, caught up in it all "please Eddie, i want you to." That sentence was all that he needed and soon his hand was trailing down your body. Thumb rubbing your clit gently as your eyes flickered closed, his fingers journeyed down and he groaned at how wet you were for him. He slid a finger inside you, gentle at first, waiting to see your reaction. You couldn't help but buck your hips up, wanting more. He didn't hesitate, speeding up his rhythm and adding a second finger. You brought him back in for a kiss, moaning into his mouth the entire time. He pushed his fingers in deeper and your back arched, earning you a low growl from Eddie. His actions had you half clawing at him already, his pace just fast enough, on the edge of teasing He took his fingers out and you whimpered.

"Patience baby" a spark ran down your body at the pet name and then you were watching with bated breath and his mouth once again made its way down your body, licking and sucking, stopping to place kisses every now and then. His head ducked between your thighs, and he lightly bit the skin of your thigh making you cry out in surprise. He teased you, running his tongue between your folds slowly and you shivered with pleasure. God, you'd imagined this moment so many times and you could hardly believe it was actually happening. Another teasing drag on his tongue before he finally gave you what you'd been craving.

Eddie ate you out like you were his last meal, not stopping for a second. His thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Your hand was grasping harshly at his hair, and your thighs were pressed against his face. Eddie didn't seem to mind. Eyes glancing up at you sometimes, filled with lust as he watched you fall apart because of it. "Fuck, Eddie" you'd never had someone make you feel this good before. He changed his position slightly. Tongue pressing against your clit whilst he slid two fingers back inside you. His actions met by your loud pitch moan.

"Can I make you cum?" his pace slowed as he waited for your answer. His mouth covered in your juices.

"I think i'd kill you if you didn't right now" you breathed. Eddie chuckled, the sound vibrated against you and you squirmed. Eddie continued his work, looking up at you more often now, trying to gauge how close you were. It didn't take him much longer to bring you to your peak and you cried his name as his fingers worked you through the orgasm. Eddie laid down beside you as you caught your breath, sucking your juices off his fingers as if it was just a casual thing. Once your breathing had returned to normal you decided it was your turn. You rolled over so you were hovering on top of him and placed kisses slowly down his chest. You could feel Eddie's breath start to pick up as you descended further down his body. Fingers hooking under the waistband of his boxers. Looking up at him once for permission. With an eager nod from Eddie you tugged them down and off of him. You only had one thought in your head; you wanted to make that dream of his a reality.

"Fuck" Eddie shuddered as you took him in a firm grip, you stroked him gently a few times, before running your tongue around his head. Another curse word falling from Eddie's lips as he grasped the bedcovers. You took him fully into your mouth and he groaned loudly, his free hand moving down to tangle in your hair, controlling your rhythm. "Shit y/n- fuck, feels so good" Eddie's hips rocked up into your mouth, almost choking you. He only let you continue for a few more minutes before pulling you off him."Not gonna last much longer with your mouth around me like that" he quickly explained, almost out of breath "wanna be inside you–if- if that's what you want too." Eddie gave you a sheepish look. You didn't reply to him, instead moving up onto your knees and straddling him. The look Eddie was giving you right now let you know he understood your answer. You let out a nervous breath before grabbing hold of him once again so you could slide down on to him.

You both moaned together as you eventually took all of his length inside you. Eddie sat up so he could get closer to you, biting large marks on your neck. "Feels so right" he mumbled against your skin and you mumbled back in agreement. Eddie was correct, it did feel right, not half as awkward as you'd expected it to be. It was just you and him, sharing this moment. Melting into the intimacy and all you could think about was the way he felt, the praises he was whispering into your ear sending sparks through you.

"Don't want to ever stop doing this” you murmured, gaining an amused laugh from Eddie as he rocked up into you harder, almost throwing you off rhythm.

"Might need to take some breaks sweetheart" Eddie teased, nipping at your earlobe "otherwise you might kill me- though suppose it's a good way to go." Without warning Eddie flipped you over so you were on your back and slammed into you hard, making you cry out. "Uhh y/n, that's a great sound"

"Then you should get me to make it again'" you challenged him. You knew it wouldn't be difficult. You were so close already. Eddie smirked, happily taking the bait. Once again he thrust into you hard but this time he didn't give you time to recover, his pace relentless as he slammed into you over and over. Eddie had you crying out his name and clawing at his back. His hand snaked down between you both, thumb circling your clit. That feeling was all you needed, and the waves of your orgasm washed over you and your back arched from the bed.

"So fucking beautiful" Eddie panted, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he pulled out of you, spilling across your lower stomach. He barely gave himself time to catch his breath before slipping out to your bathroom and bringing back a washcloth to clean you down with. After he'd finished, Eddie laid down on his side facing you, fingertips tracing patterns on your skin.

"So what now?" you asked, tucking a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic

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jangofctts · 2 years

Text

A Burning Hill (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving), cum eating, vaginal fingering, face sitting, slight praise kink, mentions of violence/death, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: not too proud abt this one but oh well hope you enjoy!!! thank you for your patience!

The funeral is drab, and the weather even worse. The crowd is a swath of black—solemn faces of the mayor’s colleagues and bitter contempt of the public who emerged to pay homage, or to spit on the mayor’s casket. You can’t blame them for that. You’d rather mingle with the crowd than be standing on the smooth steps of the town hall—scrutinized for whatever the public assumes you’ve done wrong.

Your mother is a tipping point—you love her, you really do, but Christ she’s overwhelming. Swarmed by cameras, gaudy public statements and hounded by media is not your cup of tea. Senator Nahdi thrives in it. It’s a good thing your parents all but scrubbed away your existence—different last name, no sight of you on campaigns or honorable mentions—a ghost. If anything, you’re mistaken as her assistant and not as her daughter.

It’s for the best.

The one sprig of happiness you can find in this situation is Bruce. He doesn’t want to be here, brushing elbows with elitists and media alike—you know that. But he’s come anyway. For you.

Though, being a reclusive billionaire does have it’s drawbacks. The second he steps out of his vintage car and hands the valet his keys, the media is upon him like piranhas. It’s impressive the poise he keeps—you flinch after every shutter of the lens and bright flash. You’re too used to being behind the scenes.

To keep the media and their grubby, little hands out of your business, you wait for Bruce to find you through the crowd. You’re tucked behind one of the great, big columns upholding the overhanging ceiling, right by the double doors. Your mother stands a couple paces away, preaching to the choir of cameras. You watch Bruce spot her through the crowd and wander through the sea of bodies. Upon seeing him, your mother sweeps him into a spine-crushing hug.

“Tch,” you hear her scoff as she pulls away. She pinches his sunken cheek. “So pale—and skinny. Does Alfred not feed you, Bruce?”

Bruce shrugs. Whatever he says is too quiet for you to hear.

You mother waves her hand and proceeds to straighten the lapels on his overcoat. “Bah—at least you look decent,” she says, manicured hand reaching higher to adjust a strand of hair that falls over his forehead. She purses her mauve-painted lips, an uncharacteristic trace of sadness pooling in her eyes. “You look just like your father.”

Bruce looks away, drawing into himself. “Is Blue here?”

Senator Nahdi casts an imprudent stare over her shoulder. “Yes, yes—go find your little shadow—she’s embarrassed to be seen with me.”

You roll your eyes.

Bruce lifts his chin, keen eyes easily fining your little hiding spot. You offer him a short wave.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles to your mother, but she pays hardly any mind, more concerned with the reporter that jams a microphone into her space bubble.

Bruce reaches the pillar, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips. You look him up and down, and blurt the first thing that comes to mind. After all, you’re bound too be nervous. Last time you saw him, he was knuckle deep inside of you. “You look nice—I never see you in clothes.”

He lifts a brow. You wince and slap a hand over your forehead. “Fuck—that sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“A little bit,” he snorts, cupping your arm and drawing you further away from the crowd. Tucked around the corner where prying eyes would have trouble seeing you. He pins his back to the wall and invites you into his space, cold hand reaching for yours. You give it to him. “But I know what you mean.”

You roll your tongue over your lips. His eyes drop to the motion, then back up, slowly and without care for your fragile state of normalcy. “That—that’s good.”

His thumb rubs an easy line over your knuckles, dry from the weather and your excessive use of latex gloves on the job. Bruce cups your hand between his palms and brings it to his lips. They’re searing against your flesh. “Your hands are freezing—where are your gloves?”

“You’re not wearing any, either,” you point out. “If you can stand the cold, so can I.”

Bruce laughs at that. He cups your face with his other hand and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. As the flesh bounces back, his thumb comes to rest on your chin. “Alfred said I should invite you for tea again.”

You grin. “Are you going to?”

“Maybe,” he says, craning his neck down while lifting your chin up. “Would you say yes?”

There’s hesitancy in those solemn, blue eyes. Bruce still tiptoes around you and you don’t blame him. This is new territory—the feelings were always there—but acting upon them is a whole new beast. “Maybe.”

Bruce huffs through his nose, and dips his head lower. His lips skim yours and your heart bursts with a myriad of spectral colors and the pang of childhood. You bridge the gap and kiss him with such ardency, the very stars ache in want. But your mind always finds the sadness in situations that involve Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t pretend that he’s whole, and if he were laid upon a train track, you’re not sure he would move. If a knife were buried into his spine, nestled the fragile vertebrae, he’d say it can’t hurt worse than he already does. He’d bleed out into the streets before he asks for help or reveals the inner workings of his tumultuous heart.

You could never stomach heartbreak, though, could you? So what exactly is this, that you’re doing to yourself? What would you call this? You blister at the sight and feel of anything less than ideal—but here, balancing between Bruce and Vengeance, you call agony sacrosanct.

You break away, the humidity of your breathing mixing harshly with the frosty air. His cologne drowns your nostrils as you bury your face into his chest. “Blue, I—”

Someone, somewhere in the nearby crowd utters a name that causes Bruce to stiffen—you don’t recognize the name Falcone. His face falls into a stony mask. Bruce untangles himself from you, parts his lips as if to explain himself, then falls back to a shitty; “I gotta go.”

“Wait!” You call, snatching his coat sleeve. “Bruce—hang on.”

He doubles back and unlatches your fingers from his sleeve. He presses a kiss to your chilled knuckles. “I’ll see you later, Blue. I promise.”

You face twists as Bruce slips around the corner and gets lost in the crowd.

You don’t see him later.

In fact—the whole fucking funeral turns to shit. You can’t even begin to explain what happened—another attack—a bomb collar and a catalogue of riddles only the Batman is allowed to answer. You don’t get to see the end of it—you’re ushered outside by SWAT, corralled into questioning and emergency management outside.

The worst of it happens in the blink of an eye. The bomb explodes.

SWAT rushes in and there’s some kind. Of sick kneading in your belly that pushes up your throat. You’re trying to shove the panic back down—swallowing and choking on air as though you were never able to make your body do anything but shake.

For all you know, Bats is blown to bits. Bruce is missing and you can’t find your mother in the sea of chaos. You cannot let yourself spiral and so the rest of the day is spent in a stupor—fumbling for any scrap of news as the paramedics move through the crowd that they managed to keep under their care. You’re able to escape once you flash your badge—fighting your will to search the streets looking for a piece of those you care for.

Miraculously, you find your way home. And while you’re stuck in a position of forced immobility, you still have a phone. Your mother is first—it goes straight to voicemail yet your father assures you over text that her phone is simply dead. No need to worry. You’ll believe it when you see it, but for now it’s enough.

Bruce comes next. You call the tower, cursing the fact that Bruce lives like a fucking haunted Victorian child when it comes to technology. On the second call, your nails chewed to the quick, Alfred picks up the landline. “Alfred—thank god. It’s Blue.”

“Miss Blue,” Alfred greets, “I heard the news. Are you alright, darling?”

“Peachy,” you sniff, fighting back the way your throat cinches up tight. “Is Bruce home?”

You cross your fingers.

“I’m afraid not, dear,” Alfred relays. “I wouldn’t worry yourself. Master Wayne has a habit of disappearing in the worst of times.”

“Oh,” you say, voice wobbling.

“Would you like to leave a message, love?”

“Will you tell him I called?”

“Of course,” Alfred assures. “Take care of yourself, Miss Blue.”

Alfred hangs up. Your chest sinks as tears flood your eyes, scrambling for another solution—if only to keep your mind occupied. It’s a long shot, but you’re determined—you’ll call every damned hospital in Gotham if that’s what it takes.

You get halfway through the list with no results, and just as you’re about to dial the seventh hospital’s number, another caller intercepts the call. “Gordon—” You answer midway through the first ring.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gordon responds. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine, fine,” you say. “What happened? Is he ok?”

Gordon doesn’t have to guess as to who this “he” you’re referencing is. He sighs through the phone. “Yeah—guy is like a fuckin’ tank. Hits like one too.”

Your heart jumps—at least Vengeance is ok. You sigh and rub at your tired eyes. “That’s a relief.”

“Mhm,” Gordon hums. “He told me to give you a call, y’know.”

You chest seizes.

Your tongue rolls over your teeth. You try to play it cool. “He did?”

“I’m not stupid, Blue,” Gordon pokes. “I’m old, but I know when someone’s keeping secrets.”

You clench your jaw as an icy wash trickles down your spine. You clam up. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

The other end crackles as Gordon sighs. “Just be careful, kid. People like him hide their face for a reason.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I got it.”

“Right. And just to make it clear—don’t sacrifice your career for whatever is going on between you and him.”

Never in your life had you wanted a phone call to end so desperately. You hastily agree, say your curt goodbyes and smash the hangup icon. Jesus Fucking Christ. Were you really that obvious? Fuck, you can’t thin about that right now—that’s a shit show for later.

You’re not really sure how many hours pass after that—enough that you fall into a hazy sleep on the couch, plagued by stress dreams. You jolt awake as something pounds against your living room window, a black mass of armor and lanky limbs crawling through the space like an unwanted shadow. Your fear dissipates the moment you see the pointed ears. You should be a little concerned or pissed that Bats is breaking in, but all you can manage is a relief upon seeing him wedge himself through the frame. It’s a little funny—less so when a pained curse echos through the room.

Brain still muddled with sleep, you don’t think to help him. Bats stumbles to his feet, takes two strides towards you and and drops heavily to his knees. A grunt follows, punched out and wheezy that scrapes against his diaphragm. You’re hanging halfway off your couch as you catch his head, guiding him to rest on your lap instead of knocking his forehead into the coffee table. Fuck.

It’s a miracle Bats is alive, let alone standing.

Well, not really standing—he’s sorta crumpled into a ball, using your thighs as a headrest. He takes quick, shallow breaths as light tremors wrack through his frame. “I got you—don’t worry.”

And so you hold him like this. Wondering if you both are still just friends, or coworkers, acquaintances, shadows, or less than a spark. Even if it’s his breathe on you neck late at night or if it’s your laced fingers in the dark. How tightly do you need to be pressed against each other before you admit that you aren’t doing this for warmth? How many times does his thumb need to brush your lips before you both realize that you’ve gone too far?

“You—you need to lock your windows.”

Not really what you were expecting him to say, but then again, he’s not the predictable sort. “But then I’ll never get helpless, dark and mysterious visitors in the night,” you smile, teasing your thumbs over the sharp points of his cowl.

He makes a noise low in his throat. “Exactly—you’re too nice.”

You puff out your bottom lip. “Aw—scared of me finding another vigilante to mess around with?”

Bats shifts closer, gloved fingers crawling up your exposed thighs and settling on the swell of your hips. “You could get robbed.”

He doesn’t answer your question, but the way Bat’s hands tighten around your hips are more than enough evidence to draw a conclusion. You roll your eyes and gesture to the room. “I don’t think this place screams decadence—what would they even take? My Danny DeVito pillow?”

“Carelessness is an open door for disaster,” he mutters. “Don’t invite it.”

Your face scrunches. “You sound like my grandpa.”

Bats says nothing in response, content to simply lay here like this. You’d let him too if you were kinder—but you have hardwood floors and the kneepads he wears can only negate so much pressure. Your ass is slipping off the cushions too, but you know once you adjust he’ll bail. So you stay, fighting gravity and the weight of his upper body leaning onto you.

You stroke a finger down his stubbled jawline and his eyes flutter—still hyper aware but driving to sleep. The black greasepaint hides the skin around his eyes, but you know if you wiped it away, you’d find dark circles beneath. He’s adopted the night and all it brings, but humans are not nocturnal, and the life he chooses is taxing.

“Batsy,” you say, “let’s go hangout in my bed, yeah?”

His eye cracks open, the sliver of his blue iris, stark against the black paint. His throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m fine here.”

It’s not a refusal, but his way of telling you that he can bear the discomfort. He should know that he doesn’t have to—never with you. “C’mon. I have a memory foam topper.”

“I’ll ruin the sheets—armor is dirty,” Batsy asserts softly. Each time he speaks, his stubble scrapes the soft flesh of your thighs—you suppress a shiver.

“I don’t care,” you retort. Your hands drop to his arms, fingers finding the straps of his vambraces. You chew he inside of your cheek and study the black mass of armor. It rests heavy on his shoulders and can’t be that comfortable. Not after being blown up, that’s for fucking sure. You take a breathe and leap into unknown territory. “Besides…you can take all this off. I’ll help you.”

The muscles in his jaw work as Bats considers your offer. His will tonight is no doubt whittled to the bone—making this gargantuan dip into vulnerability a tad easier. If you caught Bats at a earlier time he’d probably say no and leave.

His pink tongue rolls over his cracked, bottom lip. “Can’t…my face—”

“You can leave your helmet on,” you quickly interject, desperate to keep him on the hook.

Bat’s fingers furl into the waistband of your shorts. “Risky.”

“Why?” You question. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Too much,” Bats sighs. Your heart skips into an uneven rhythm. “You’re a liability.”

Your mouth drops into a frown. “Wow, thank you. I’ll make sure to jot that down right next to distrac—”

“Blue,” Vengeance scolds. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You quirk a brow and pinch his cheek. “What did you mean, then?”

He grumbles under his breath and closes his eyes, mulling over his words three times over before he even thinks to say anything. It’s a familiar quirk—you know someone who does the same thing, but the name is lost on you…not that it really matters right now. Bats’ shoulders lift as he takes a deep breath, deflating as he exhales. “The funeral—you could’ve been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t,” you sniff, “and you can’t blame me for going. I was there as a courtesy for my mom.”

Bats sighs deeply. “I’m saying, what happened there, was my fault.”

“Oh.”

That’s not really fair, you think. No one can control a situation like that. Sure, maybe Vengeance is a catalyst to these events, but that doesn’t mean what follows solely rests on his shoulders.

“I can’t let you get hurt because of me,” he adds, brokenly.

“Good thing I’m smart enough to stay away from the wrong people,” you say. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m here,” Bats presses, as if the very presence of him is sinful in nature.

You roll your eyes and ruin your fingers along a deep scratch in his helmet. “You’re the right sort of wrong.”

He doesn’t point out your hypocrisy.

“Let’s go to my room,” you suggest again. “We’ll turn the lights off.”

He’s on the precipice of listening.

“Let me take care of you.”

He cracks—gives way like fine china against stone.

You gather him Ito your arms, allowing him to rest his weight on you as you usher him to your room. The first part is easy as he strips off the first layer of compact armor like second nature, his boots and heavy tactical pants. You rest them over your dresser and when you return you close the blinds and reach for the light switch.

Your room plummets into darkness. Once you find your way to the bed, you’re happily surprised to find that Bats has stripped to nakedness—including his helmet. You buzz with excitement as your hands reach for him. He lays on his back as you scoot beside him, as you toss your pajamas to the floor. Just as naked as he is. “See? Not so bad.”

“No,” he agrees, running his hands up your arms and urging you closer.

You don’t care, that as you press your lips to his, it screams urgency. Breathlessly tattooing your relief onto his tongue and the hollow of his throat. By now, he doesn’t need to press his hand to your chest to hear your heart’s truth. He can feel the honesty in your fingertips trailing down his face. Bats opens his mouth, voice raspy with need, as he runs his nails down your spine. “I’m ok, Blue. I’m ok.”

You’ll take his word for it, even if you can hear the way his breath stutters each time your hands come across a mottled bruise. It’s for the best you can’t see him right now—you’d be throwing a fit over his health. And so, to distract yourself from your fretful mind, your ideas drift to more pleasurable things.

You use the line of his body as a guide in the darkness. Carefully shuffling back and coming to rest between his legs that part for you. You lay onto your stomach, and rest your head on his upper thigh. Your hand slides over his opposite leg and inward. His leg jumps as you traverse from his inner thigh up to the crease of his hip.

“What are you doing?” He croaks.

“Sucking you off,” you say, nonchalant and cool. Not like you’ve been thinking about this on the daily since the first time. Definitely not. “Can I?”

Bats’ inhale shakes as your thumb rubs innocent circles over the sharp protrusion of his hipbone. He shifts and cups your face. You lean into his calloused palm. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you plead. Your hand drifts from his hip to his cock, pleasantly surprised that he’s already half hard. Bats grunts as your fingers wrap around the base of him, coaxing him to his full length as you roll your palm up and down his cock. “Please?”

The bedsheets rustle as they’re clenched tightly between Bats’ fist. His fingers twitch against your cheek. You can hear him sigh in the dark. “You convinced me.”

You huff through your nose. “You’re right, you know. I do always get what I want.”

“Spoiled,” he specifies. He pauses and then quietly adds, “you deserve it.”

You smile and press a kiss into his hipbone. “So do you.”

Before he can disagree with you, you cut him off by dragging your hot tongue from his groin and all the way up his cock. You finish by suckling the tip into the soft warmth of your mouth. You’re working with touch alone, a bit disappointed you don’t get to see all of him, but oh well. Touch will do.

Bats’ murmur of your name devolves into a rough groan as your tongue swirls around the underside of his tip and over the leaking slit. Bats takes a deep, shaky breath through his nose and threads his bruised fingers through your hair. You readjust and open your jaw wider, letting him fill your mouth and take him deeper. Not far enough he reaches the back of your throat, but enough to satisfy.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and you hum softly. You slide your tongue down his shaft and take him a bit deeper. His body stiffens under you as you begin to slowly bob up and down his cock and hollow your cheeks. You move your hand down to cup his balls, wetted by your saliva that’s dripped down, gently kneading them as your mouth works his cock. Batsy’s fingers tighten in your hair, hips rolling up to meet your lips each time they swallow down his length.

“Blue—” his voice is hoarse, fighting the urge to buck his hips and force you to take all of him into your mouth. You would if you could, but shit—your jaw aches and in no way is he small. His cock jumps on the flat of your tongue as you moan around him, your pace unhurried and sweet.

You slowly pull off him for a breath of air, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the beads of precum that dribble down the tip. “Feel good?”

The moment he responds, it becomes a strangled whimper as you take him as deep as you can. Your nose briefly touches his heated skin and the sparse hair over his groin before you pull up, wrap your hands around his cock and slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“I’m getting close—fuck,” he whispers, opening and closing his fingers around your hair, on the precipice of deciding how roughly he should grab it. Or not at all. You tighten your grip as he tenses under you, cock hard and pulsing. You twist your wrist and lave your tongue over the underside of him. “Wait—wait—” Bats grunts, tugging at the strands of your hair to get you to ease off.

You lift away, still close enough that when you talk, your lips brush his throbbing head. His cock twitches, abdominal muscles tensing under your touch, fighting his impeding orgasm. “It’s ok—you can cum in my mouth.”

He swears. “No I…I don’t want…fuck—”

Amused at his indecision, you sit up and lean over him, hands still working his cock. You miss his lips the first time and catch his chin. You adjust and kiss him open-mouthed and searing. Bats cups your jaw, allowing your tongue to slide into his mouth and suck on his lower lip.

“Blue,” Batsy moans, reaching for you when you pull back to sit on your haunches. “I wanna have you like this.”

Your hand leaves his cock as you find his lips once more in the dark. “What, naked?”

His silent laugh puffs against your cheek as he sweeps a palm up your bare back. “The armor—I can’t feel how soft you are.”

You catch his hands and tug them to your breasts, gasping as his cold fingers roll over your hardened nipples. “You can have me like this anytime you want.”

His inhale is choppy, as Bats helps you to straddle his waist. There’s a little fumbling around but eventually you settle, sinking into him like the missing piece of a puzzle, arms curling like second nature around his neck. You grasp at his hair, combing through the short strands, and wondering what color hair he has. A dark brown or black based on his stubble, you think. Blond doesn’t sit right with you.

You lips meet, wet and lustful as you languidly grind your cunt against his cock. Bats tugs your hips down against his, the two of you reveling in the sensation of your soaking pussy dragging up and down his cock, rock hard and searing.

“You’re always so wet for me,” he rasps. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Heart rushes to your cheeks. You kiss him again. “It’s because I like you, dummy.”

You don’t care that he doesn’t say it back. At least not with words. Bats plants a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “I know.”

Christ—you want him. With maddening intensity that tears you apart from the inside out. You can feel your desire, hot and dripping down his cock as you rub yourself wantonly against him. You can only imagine the sight of him like this, splayed out on your bed, just as depraved and desperate like you. Your chest stings. Maybe one day you’ll get to see him in his entirety, instead of the pieces he throws at you. Mercy and torture rolled into one.

You bite down on your bottom lip and place your hands on Bats’ toned hips, slowly rocking back and forth against the length of his cock, trapped between your soaking cunt and his stomach. Your eyes roll back as the simulation brushes perfectly over your clit. Bats seizes your hip and leans forward to lave the flat of his tongue over your nipple. You shudder as his calloused fingers find your other nipple, rolling the peaked bud between them. His mouth leaves you and the quickly cooling saliva makes you shiver.

“I want you inside me,” you whisper against his lips.

You push yourself upwards, legs splayed on either side of Bat’s lap, and reach down to take his cock into your hand. Fuck, he’s harder than steel. Bat’s hisses sharply through his teeth, murmuring gentle praise as you tease your clit with the wet head of his cock. You guide the tip down your slit and slot it against your aching hole. You push the slightest bit of him inside of you—choked groans and relived sighs are what follows. You moan as you both bask in that exquisite stretch of the first upwards roll of his hips. You’ll never get enough of this, you think, as your cunt envelopes the entirety of him. It’s an addiction you’ll gladly admit to. You reach for him, clutching at his shoulders and kissing him reverently. He swallows your heavy moans and cups your face between his large palms. Bats’ thumbs fondly skate over your cheekbones and you heart swells with hazy tenderness.

“Take what you want—there you go,” Batsy huffs out as you roll your hips. His hands drop to your waist and coax you into an easy pace. You take the hint and roll your hips back against his as he steadily arches into you. Like this, Bats has unrestricted access to toy with your breasts. He lavishes them in attention as you control the pace of his cock, fucking you slowly and languidly into your heat. You fold over him and let your head fall to the side as Bats peppers kisses along your jaw and behind your ear, murmuring sweet words to you between each gentle press of his lips on your skin.

“I wish I could see you ride me,” he states, lifting his hips to meet yours and nibbling your bottom lip between his teeth.

“You wanted—wanted the lights off,” you reply coyly, voice breathy and slightly uneven as you began to bounce on Bat’s cock. “Could’ve just blindfolded me.”

“It’s hard to think around you.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You don’t take his banter for granted. It’s true he and you are far too comfortable together, and for fuck’s sake—you don’t even know who he is. It should worry you but all you can dream about is him. Of heat—of his ivory teeth piercing through your flesh, all you golden soaked fantasies and pleasures dripping into his hungry mouth. He’s ripped you from orbit and now the only guiding glow in a world full of night and terror. It’s odd how quickly he’s become a staple in your life—a mutual mess of tangled heartstrings.

Ever the try hard, Bats stutters out a curse, and digs his heels into the mattress, bringing his knees up, under and behind you. The abrupt shift is enough to throw you off-guard. Your legs turn to jello as his hips thrust up. You squeak as you at the roughness and prop you hands onto his chest, somehow his cock spears even deeper. Tighter too, a sharper angle, what with the way your pussy clamps down around him. A rush of blazing heat envelops your lower half, dancing along the precipice of ecstasy. Bats’ lithe fingers snake between your splayed legs to toy with your clit, rubbing quick circles with three fingers as he murmurs sweet praise. His words are brittle kindling to a matchstick, and every inch of you burns for him.

“Sh-shit,” you warble. “I’m gonna cum—”

“I know. I can feel you.” Batts hisses in affirmation. His fingers over your clit doubles their efforts. You seize and whimper as he bypasses the hood and zeros in on the raw nerves. “Let go.”

No sooner had the words left Batsy's lips, you’re spiraling down into a whirlpool of an orgasm that consumes you entirely. Your back arches, brilliant colors bursting behind your tightly closed eyes. Or maybe they’re open—you can’t fucking tell, it’s dark as shit. Your hips snap voraciously against his to achieve the final bite of friction, and at this angle, the taught skin of Bats’ lower abdomen grazes sinfully against your clit with every buck of your hips. You jolt forward, ball your fists into his hair and whine against his mouth, shaking in his lap like you’ve touched a live wire.

Bats’ arms twist over your back, trapping you into his chest as he drives his cock into you, searching for his own end. You bleat his name and bury your teeth into his collarbone. A bruise will show up later on his pale flesh—a token reminder that he’s yours if only for a little while. One hand reaches down to grab a handful of your ass, kneading the pliable muscle and helping your hips shove down onto his upward thrusts. Fucking hell—you’re the one supposed to be doing all the work—

You nibble a line up to his jaw, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. You drag your slick, hot tongue over the sharp line of his jaw up to his ear. His hair tickles your cheek. “Cum in me—yeah, that’s it. Good—so good.”

It’s the same trick he pulls on you—makes sense that it’s equally devastating when used on him. Batsy’s broken cry is nearly enough to send you into a second orgasm as he lurching against you. He tilts his head, catches your lips and licks deep into your mouth. He cums, wild and deep inside you. Fuck, you wail at the sensation, tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss. He kisses you in the way only a bleeding heart can—a tragedy stricken hero who feels undeserving of such tenderness.

His heart beats wildly beneath his breastbone, you can feel it’s thumping as you lay your shaky palm over his chest. He’s so…human like this. Bats’ legs flatten as his body unwinds, sharing in the post haze—there’s no rush this time. You two are allowed to just be. You laying atop him while his softening cock is still buried inside of you—a perfect situation, you think.

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck and inhale deeply. Rain and the faint scent of sweat remain on his skin…and something sweeter. A little like cologne—you take another sniff—yup, definitely cologne. At least the remnant base nodes, either way it sparks dejavú. Fuzzy recollections come up short—it’s hard to place a memory with a scent if you don’t know what you’re looking for, or a comparison.

Bats weaves his hands into your hair and lightly scratches your scalp. You melt into him with a purr. “Why are you sniffing me?”

You snicker and nip at his jaw. “You smell nice,” you can’t contain your mischievous smile, “I like your cologne, by the way.”

The way his body stiffens is nigh imperceptible, but considering you’re using him as a body pillow at the moment, you’re clued in to his reactions. Bats’ throat bobs as your teasing nips morph into sloppy kisses that you plant down the column of his throat. “I’m not wearing any.”

“Liar,” you whisper, feeling his pulse jump. You grunt as his hips shift, sore cunt clenching at the loss of his cock as it slips out. A gush of liquid, a mix of his cum and yours, spill onto his abdomen.

He says nothing—a tactic to neither dig a bigger grave nor save his skin. A purgatory of secrets he’s not willing to share. You can respect that—you’re not really sure you’re ready to bear the burden of his secret identity and all it’s potential consequences just yet—neither is he. You roll your eyes at yourself—you need to stop poking your nose into trouble and expecting it not to bite back.

You jolt as two curious fingers dip into your sensitive slit. He smears the added wetness, up to your clit that stings from abuse, and down to your weeping entrance. You whine and dig your nails into his chest—Bats makes no move to increase his speed, he’s simply enjoying the easy glide between your swollen lips and the nosies it rakes out of you. He unabashedly stokes the embers of your arousal to life and you know it’s a distraction. You don’t really care.

Batsy nudges his nose into your forehead. “Blue.”

“Hm.”

“Sit on my face.”

You startle at the request, breath seizing in your lungs. Holy fuck—

He plants a kiss onto your hairline, as his finger targets your clit. He rubs tight, targeted circles around the bundle of nerves, reveling in the way your thighs shake for him. You nod before your voice catches up with you—that and the realization he can’t see you nod.

“Y-yeah, ok,” you stutter, anticipation and unrefined desire lacerating through your cunt. Batboy slides down the mattress and helps you paw your way through the dark until his mouth is situated right under your cunt.

You twitch as his hands find your thighs, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. “Grab the headboard,” he instructs. Your fingers reach out and slide over the top of the smooth wood, gripping it tightly in anticipation.

“Little crybaby—so good for me,” he praises, and fuck you want to take him again right here and now. You whine as his breath fans hot on your core, just hovering. Waiting for who knows what. You release a shuddering breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“God, Batty, please…” You beg, your voice breathy and soft like golden-spun honey. “Please,” you hear yourself gasp again, shifting in his grasp and unraveling into a debase state of lust.

“Patience,” he replies evenly, moving one hand from your hip to the apex of your legs. His muscular arm curls around your calf, his hand steady, thumb and forefinger gently parting delicate, slick folds. With that, you are utterly exposed to him as he slips the hood back from the sensitive pactch of nerves at the top of your slit. Your pussy clenches involuntarily and harshly, making everything from your toes to your hips tense. Bats hums in delight.

“You’re dripping,” his rasp is dark, wrecked. “Do you want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you cry, dropping one hand to twist into his hair. Tears prick at your eyes—you can’t handle anymore teasing. “S’all yours—please. I need you.”

Not keen on keeping you waiting for too long, Bats surges forward to suck the swollen folds of your pussy into his heated mouth. He rolls your sensitive, fevered flesh between his blunt teeth, then flicks his tongue wetly against your entrance—you can hear it too.

The lapping sound of his tongue devouring your wetness and his spend hungrily is vulgar. Your hoarse cry for him and your tight grip on his hair is all the encouragement Bats needs to offer more of himself for your pleasure. He slides the flat of his tongue up to circle your clit until the air is robbed from your lungs. You think you might quit breathing for eternity. It’s certainly a possibility—

Then, all too soon, his mouth disappears. No. “Breathe. You’re working yourself up.”

No shit, you want to bite back. Your fingers tug on his hair—he grunts as his thumb and forefinger squeeze the plump lips of your pussy closed and rub gently up and down. “I’ll cry,” you halfheartedly threaten. “I’ll…I’ll cry if you don’t—”

“Then cry,” he challenges, opening you back up and thumbing your clit. Your thighs shake as your teeth tear into your bottom lip.

You open you mouth to snip back, but just as you do , Bats opens you up again. He takes a long lick up the length of your slit and then another. Swirling his tongue deeper, his mouth slides over your pussy in a soft, velveteen kiss that makes your entire body shake. You can feel just how wet he’s making you, and you know he could spend a whole night with his face buried between your thighs if he could. You’d certainly let him if he asked.

“You taste perfect,” Vengeance growls into you, licking a long line up the seam of you. You whimper pathetically—a feeble sound you’d almost be embarrassed of if you were actually cognizant.

“Oh, shit!” You cry out, chest heaving and knuckles white against the headboard that you grip onto like it’s your only tether to the world. “Fuck, you’re—fuck, you feel good,”

Bats spreads his saliva over your sopping pussy with two fingers and then lets his his jaw go lax—devouring you like a starved man—lathing every inch of your pussy with his tongue. His hands holding your thighs apart are the only things keeping you upright, and through the haze of lust you feel the centre of your weight pressing down directly onto his face. Concern breaks through the fog of your mind. Fuck—you’re gonna break his nose. You try to lift your hips up slightly, but as you do so, Bats simply growls and immediately tugs your hips right back to where they were.

His nose bumps against your clit, your wetness smeared over his cheeks and down his chin as he pushed the very tip of his tongue into your entrance—just enough to stretch your sensitive entrance—swollen and aching as Batty coaxes every single one of your nerves to burst into flames. He refuses to pull back, not until your hips buck involuntarily against his face, wantonly fucking his tongue as the hot muscle of his tongue curls deliriously inside of you.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you—one more pass of his tongue and you’re done for. You cry out, a choked, breathy yelp of his name boarders a sob. Bats retracts from your cunt with an erotic wet sound, and closes his lips around your aching clit. He hums from deep in his chest, sending blistering hot vibrations zipping through your core—it’s too much. Hissing, your back arches into a sharp bend, as your hand shoots to his hair, clawing at the strands in attempt to steer his relentless mouth away. The nerves he’s toying with are too raw—and overload of pleasure. Soon, the burning ache of your orgasm dissolves, melting into a plateau of the lingering grazes of Bats’ lips that just barely against you.

Your shaking hand untangles from his hair. You tongue rolls over your bottom lip. “Shit—why are you so good at that?”

With some ability to move restored to your limbs, you shift back and manage to slide off his body and slump by his side. Bats is quick to turn and wrap you into his arms, but instead of tucking your head under his chin, he shuffles down the bed and nestles his head onto your chest. “I like you, dummy.”

You smile and find his cheek. You tilt his head up, craving his mouth and the sweetness of his tongue. You giggle as pushes himself up slightly to reach for your lips. You feel his smile against you as you kiss him—albeit a little sloppy, but neither of you care.

Bats breaks away and hugs you closer, ear pressed against your sternum. Your hands fall to his head like second nature, toying with the short strands of his hair and stroking your fingers down the slopes of his face. You skim your other hand down his muscled back, lightly dragging your nails down his back. Scars litter his skin here, a map of past battles and old griefs that make your chest sting. You know he’ll sneer at the idea, but you still look upon him with wonder and pity. Maybe, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you know that the future is not very pretty for his kind. But then again—he probably thinks the same of you. Always running into burning houses and wondering why you get signed each time.

A fate of permanent loneliness for the both of you.

You twitch as his his large palm cups your breast. “What are you thinking about, Blue?”

“Wondering how to ask you to spend the night,” you say, fingers memorizing the jagged bump of a scar in the middle of his back. Shrapnel, most likely. Left unstitched too—you frown.

He shift his weight and rubs his cheek against your chest. You feel him swallow, and force out his words as if they were sharpened glass. “I can’t.”

“How about until I fall asleep?” You propose, not keen on letting go just yet. But then again, each time you’re with him, it becomes harder and harder to leave. “Don’t make me beg.”

He sighs deeply. “Alright.”

A smile splits across your face, joy filling up your ribcage and bubbling up through the cracks. You squeeze him tight as he grapples with the top sheet and flings it over your exposed bodies. You promise yourself to say awake, at least for a couple more hours, but you’re weak against his warmth and the weight of him. Each time you brush the fuzzy line of sleep, you jerk awake and fight the temptation. Bats catches onto your ploy.

He gently rolls your body onto your side and slots himself to your back, trapping your arms abasing your chest as he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your neck and interlaces his fingers with yours. “Go to sleep, Blue.”

And you fall into it—like a daydream, or a fever. The hours become rainfall, dreamy minutes and pools of starlight gathering between your heart and lungs. Somewhere between these moments, outside of your unconsciousness, the bed dips and the air turns cold. The soft comforter lifts and is placed over your body and before you stir, your worries are silenced with a fragile kiss to your temple.

When you awake, you are alone. Watery-grey sunlight sieves through the moth-eaten curtains. All you have to remember Vengeance by is the black paint that dots your sheets and fingertips like smeared ash—like you’ve invited a shadow into your bed instead of a man.

You rub the sleep from your eyes and reach for you phone laying atop the nightstand. A voicemail notification from the Wayne tower takes up your lockscreen. Fingers still clumsy with sleep, you press the phone to your ear, expecting the easy voice of Alfred updating you on Bruce’s whereabouts. Instead, Bruce’s embittered voice crackles through the receiver. It’s nothing memorable, just a quick apology about the funeral and an ask to call him back.

The thorn-laced fear unravels from your heart—you’re glad he’s ok. Yet, in the same span of second, you’re pissed. Yes, people mistake your forgiving nature for naivety, you just never thought that Bruce would be one those people. His odd disappearance and Alfred’s cover up—he’s hiding something. You’re not one who dips their toes into paranoia, but fuck—what else are you supposed to feel when your friend goes missing after a domestic terrorism attack?

You sigh.

You hope Bruce isn’t involved with anything that makes him a target.

Or better yet, involved with the case.

#batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #robpatbat #batman 2022 x reader #batman 2022

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